


this modern love

by harvardhands



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: College AU, F/F, F/M, Friends With Benefits AU, actual frat douche humor, trash romcom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-03-24 21:41:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 48,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3785245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harvardhands/pseuds/harvardhands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>part four. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. part one

**Author's Note:**

> i'm a bit rusty; constructive criticism is always appreciated. yes, this is basically a trash romcom. it was inspired by a few FWB AU posts on Tumblr and my constant, unending love for college AUs (as well as midnight rants to Chandler every night). enjoy xx
> 
> (p.s. you can find me at harvardhands.tumblr.com for any further questions/comments)

 Clarke is _wasted_.

 

(Let’s rewind.)

 

This is all Octavia’s fault, to be clear.

 

Clarke had gotten back into California early that same day, greeted at the airport by Raven holding up an obnoxious neon yellow sign that read (in bold, blocky letters, of course): CLARKE GRIFFIN, CALL GIRL. Clarke had rolled her eyes so hard she was genuinely concerned they were going to get stuck, but it did little to disguise the smile that instantly dominated her features. Regardless, her hello to Raven came in the form of punching her in the arm hard enough to draw a yelp from ner. Raven had scowled, but she knew she had been missed when there was no retaliation.

 

The entire car ride back to the apartment they shared with Octavia had been full of conversation, mostly consisting of each girl filling the other in on things that they missed during their scattered Skype calls and sporadic texting. Time and distance had done nothing to weaken their friendship—something Clarke had already known would be the case all along—but it still made her feel happier than she had felt in weeks to settle back into her old routine with her friends so effortlessly. Spending their freshman year together navigating new experiences and getting used to the grueling schedule of a collegiate soccer athlete had forged a bond strong enough between the three of them that they had not hesitated to sign a lease for their apartment shortly after the school year ended and Clarke was glad to see it lasting the test of time so far.

 

Later on in the evening, Octavia had stormed into their house minutes after Raven and Clarke had finished up dinner, loudly proclaiming that both girls’ presence was required at an end-of-the-summer party she had been invited to by the older guy she was currently seeing. Really, it was just like Octavia to proposition them for a party before even properly greeting either of them.

 

Clarke had yet to meet Lincoln (given the fact that she had spent the last few weeks of summer in Boston visiting her mother), but she had heard nothing but good things so far. That and he was apparently providing plenty of alcohol for the party, meaning that there was never really a possibility of declining the invitation.

 

Which leads back to the original point about Octavia being to blame of Clarke’s current state of extreme drunkenness.

 

The minute that the three of them had stepped through the threshold of Lincoln’s house, Clarke knew they were in for an entertaining night, at the very least. There seemed to be a body occupying almost every inch of space and the music — a mix of dance tracks and the occasional rap song — was way louder than was likely appropriate for the neighborhood they were in. Clarke did not recognize most of the faces in the crowd, but that wasn’t exactly a surprise given that Lincoln was a grad student and his circle of friends probably did not extend much past that. Normally, being on the soccer team meant that there were few people her age that Clarke did not know (hers and her roommates’ propensity for going out to parties almost every weekend probably helped that, too).

 

Truth be told, Clarke felt a twinge of intimidation at being surrounded by so many older, more mature people, but Lincoln’s friends looked like they enjoyed having a good time just as much as Clarke and hers did. Besides, she rarely ever let her fears get in the way of making the most out of social situations. That is precisely what the alcohol is for, and Raven had seemingly read her mind because she had tugged on her hand insistently and lead them toward the kitchen.

 

“Alright, drink up!”

 

Octavia had somehow beaten them to the kitchen and poured three shots of her alcohol of choice, lining them up on the counter. They each took one, taking a moment to do their customary cheers, before knocking them back with practiced ease.

 

Clarke grimaced when it hit the back of her throat. “Ah, Jose. Should’ve known our old friend would make the first appearance. We aren’t fucking around tonight, are we?”

 

“Nope!” Octavia exclaimed and refilled each glass, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “It’s the last night of summer and your first night back in forever. We have to go big or go home and we sure as fuck aren’t going home.”

 

“You say that like we won’t be back here next week, getting wasted again to celebrate surviving the first week of school,” Raven said, accepting her shot glass regardless.

 

“You say that like you mind,” Octavia shot back. “But, I mean, yeah, you’re probably right. I can already see Kane shaking his head at me when I throw up all over the track tomorrow morning. But that’s okay, I live for the smell of disappointment at 6 A.M. Makes me feel at home again.”

 

“Listen, you guys know I’m the last person to complain about our probable alcoholism. How else am I supposed to cope with my life if not by getting plastered every weekend with my main bitches? I don’t even care that we’re all gonna feel like a giant bag of dicks for our first practice back!”

 

Clarke laughed at both of them, holding up her own shot glass and keeping it there until Octavia and Raven brought theirs up to join. “Well then, here’s to our second shit-show year at college, my friends.”

 

They were most likely (read: definitely) going to get way too drunk and suffer the consequences in the form a brutal hangover during their unforgiving first practice back tomorrow, but Clarke also knew that none of them could really find it in themselves to care.

 

* * *

 

So, when Bellamy finds them still in the kitchen about thirty minutes later, loudly suggesting a game of beer pong between the four of them (he and Octavia against Raven and Clarke, naturally), Clarke’s first inclination had been to reject it. She was already five shots of tequila deep and currently nursing a cup of jungle juice that tasted more like battery acid than anything else, so — beer pong? Not a good idea right now, and especially not when Clarke knows how good the Blake siblings are at beer pong, first of all. (It was kind of unnatural, honestly, and Clarke is sort of convinced they wake up freakishly early every day to run shooting drills for this specific purpose.)

 

Second of all, a drunk Clarke makes for a competitive one, and the memory of their last attempt at playing beer pong with each other was still fresh on everyone’s mind (it ended with a visit from the fire department because Clarke had thrown a candle at Bellamy’s head in a fit of competitive rage after losing on a redemption shot — he was fine, for the record; Clarke was prone to throwing things at him anyway — only she had failed to notice it was still lit. It landed on the couch and, well, that’s also the story of how Raven’s favorite couch was burnt to a crisp.)

 

Anyway.

 

She had intended to say no, but then Raven was tugging on her hand, leading her toward the table, and the first thing Bellamy does when he makes eye contact with her is _laughs_.

 

“You’re banking on Princess tonight? She can barely get her drink into her mouth, let alone win a game of beer pong.” He bounces one of the pong balls on the table, still grinning at Clarke. “This is gonna be cake. Good to see you again, by the way. It was, like, really sweet of you to text me and let me know you were back in town.”

 

Clarke really wishes she could dispute Bellamy’s claim, but it is at that exact moment that she spills some of the juice onto her shirt and she really thinks the universe hates her sometimes. Regardless, she sets the cup down on the kitchen island — defiantly, as Clarke Griffin tends to do everything. She’s maybe drunk enough that she’s momentarily distracted by the smoothness of the granite countertop. _Nice_ , she thinks to herself (as though she’d drunkenly acquired a taste for home decor) before snapping it out of it and fixing Bellamy with a glare.

 

“Okay, firstly, I just got back today so stop being a baby. Secondly, I could kick your ass even if I were blacked out, asshole,” she retorts, taking her stance next to Raven behind the end of the table opposite of Bellamy and Octavia. “Pretty sure I remember making you cry after beating you for fourteen games straight.”

 

Bellamy frowns, mumbling out, “That was _one_ time…”

 

“People don’t forget,” interjects Raven, polishing off the last of her beer.

 

She and Octavia had taken to arranging all of the cups on the table and Clarke is mildly impressed by the neat formation given how she could tell both girls were definitely feeling the effects of the tequila.

 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Let’s get this show on the road!” Bellamy hands off the remaining ball to Octavia, shooting a smile her way. “Well, Clarke, looks like we’ll have to wait and talk about your little vacation in Boston until after you lose. That is, if you’re still coherent by that point.”

 

Clarke flips him off and downs the rest of her jungle juice, if only to spite him and prove that her impressive drinking tolerance was still present. She throws the empty cup at him, grinning when it bounces off his forehead.

 

“You’re gonna be waiting a long time then,” she retorts.

 

She wishes she was actually as confident as she is projecting, but Clarke can barely keep her mind focused on the task at hand. Her brain is swimming pleasantly with all the alcohol she has had, but she’ll be damned if she lets Bellamy and Octavia take her first beer pong victory since she’s been back. She can feel that last cup of juice settling like lead in her stomach and she is already dreading the fullness that will come with ingesting beer on top of it all. The only solution, really, would be to pummel her opponents, forcing them to be the ones to drink. _Easy enough_ , Clarke thinks.

 

* * *

 

They definitely end up losing.

 

And _seriously_ , the entire fucking universe must hate her, Clarke is certain now. She is currently listening to Bellamy gloat, glowering at him as she and Raven drink the remaining beer in each cup. Clarke would punch him if she didn’t think the momentum could quite possibly throw off her balance, further embarrassing her.

 

“You know, Clarke, I really am glad you’re home,” Bellamy says then, swinging his arm around her shoulders and smirking. “I was starting to wonder when I would get the chance to show you who’s the real BP boss.”

 

“God, you’re a douche,” groans Clarke, slapping him hard on the ribs. “‘BP boss’? Who the fuck says things like that?”

 

“Hey, now! There’s absolutely no need to be hurtful. This is no way to make the most out of the time with your long-lost friend,” Bellamy feigns offense, placing a hand dramatically over his chest. “You guys wanna head out back? It’s way nicer outside. I feel like most of the sweat on my body isn’t even mine.”

 

Octavia and Raven vocalize their agreement, but Clarke shakes her head a little. “Lemme go to the bathroom first. I’ll find you guys when I’m done.”

 

“Can you handle going to the bathroom by yourself right now, champ?” Octavia shoots her a pointed look, no doubt having taken note of Clarke’s alcohol intake. “Because you’re definitely walking like a slight breeze could knock you over.”

 

Clarke rolls her eyes, willing herself to look more sober. “This ain’t my first rodeo, O.”

 

She pauses and then dissolves into laughter. “You could totally become a cowboy and nickname yourself Rodeo-O!”

 

When all three of them stare blankly at her in return, Clarke mutters, “Fuck you, it was funny.”

 

“I’ve literally never met a more un-funny person than you,” Raven deadpans, the smirk toying at her lips belying her words. “But, yeah, go do your thing and then come find us. The night has just begun! Began?”

"Begun," Octavia quietly supplies.

"Begun!"

 

Clarke has to hold back a groan at the thought, wondering just how she’s supposed to make it through the rest of the night if she was already at this current state.

 

* * *

 

Predictably, the line to get into the bathroom is long. Clarke busies herself with scrolling absentmindedly through her phone and people-watching, occasionally laughing at the conversations she hears between the drunk girls around her. There are a few intoxicated conversations she has had with her own friends that flit through her mind when she catches tidbits of the ridiculous statements being thrown around (like the time Raven had very nearly convinced Octavia that a North Virginia also existed). Her phone buzzes in her hand then and she immediately pulls up the text from Raven.

 

**Raven**

_r u still alive?, im kinda drink_

11:05 P.M.

 

She is in the middle of shooting off a quickly reply when she notices it is her turn to use the bathroom, and she is still too focused on typing (which has suddenly become the biggest challenge Clarke has ever faced in her life) to notice the figure stepping out. In fact, she only notices when their bodies collide, jarring Clarke from her current task.

 

“Fuck, I’m really—,” she begins, faltering when she looks up to take notice of who she had just unceremoniously rammed into.

 

Clarke’s immediate thought is that this girl is _beautiful_ , the kind of pretty that makes her wonder whether she’s more attracted or annoyed because people like that should not be allowed to exist. Even in the dim lighting, she can easily make out intense gray-green eyes and shiny, chestnut locks that fall in soft curls past her shoulders. She is dressed rather simply, donning black skinny jeans and a loose camisole exposes delicate collarbones that Clarke is already thinking about mouthing over. She almost feels like this girl deserves to be introduced through some stupid montage from a teen romcom—the Hot Girl steps out of the bathroom surrounded by weird fog and angelic lighting, her hair casually blowing in the wind even though she’s indoors.

 

She’s _that_ hot (but Clarke’s drunk, slutty brain probably isn’t helping helping either.)

 

“Uh, sorry. Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention,” Clarke finally stammers out, finding her voice after realizing that the girl was pointedly staring at her, waiting for her to finish her initial sentence. “Clearly.”

 

The girl quirks an eyebrow, nodding in acknowledgement of Clarke’s apology. She gives Clarke a once-over, facial expression mostly neutral. “No problem. I’ll get out of your way.”

 

Clarke almost tells her that she should actually do the opposite of that and _stay_ in her way, but she clamps her mouth shut, killing any chance of her drunken honesty getting her into trouble. She nods dumbly instead, watching the girl walk away for a minute before stepping into the bathroom. _Jesus_ , Clarke thinks to herself (somewhat bitterly, if she’s being completely honest), _that isn’t even fair_.

 

The sudden and harsh light inside the bathroom catches her off-guard, dizzying her a little, and her attention is diverted. Instead, she places her hands on either side of the sink, steadying herself and focusing on stopping the world from spinning.

 

“When did I become such a lightweight?” She grumbles to herself.

 

But when she glances at herself in the mirror, she is mildly surprised to find that she looks way more put together than she feels.

 

Well, at least there’s that.

 

* * *

 

The other consolation comes when Clarke joins her friends in the backyard, approaching just in time to catch Octavia and Raven slumped together against the railing of the porch, seemingly holding each other up. There is a small crowd of people milling around the fairly large outside area, but it is nowhere near as packed as it is inside. The temperature is still pretty warm because it is the summer and they are in California, after all, but it feels infinitely better than being surrounded by sweaty bodies at every turn.

 

Clarke gesticulates wildly at her friends when she steps into their eyeline. “Look at this! You two can barely stand. You’re both disgraceful.”

 

Octavia held her middle finger up in what she thought was Clarke’s direction, and it would have been slightly more effective if it had actually landed on target. “Screw you, Griff. I’ll fucking fight you.”

 

“Yeah, okay, I would actually really love to see you try that right now,” Clarke laughs, swatting away Octavia’s hand. “Where’s Bell?”

 

“Dunno, he left to go find Echo,” Raven slurs out. Her eyes are hazy with the alcohol when she looks over at Clarke, a dopey smile overtaking her features. “I’ll backhand you if you mention this in the morning, but I’m happy you’re back.”

 

“Yeah, me too,” echoes Octavia, mirroring Raven’s smile. “It’s gonna be a hell of a year, that’s for damn sure.”

 

“Aww, you guys!” Clarke says, stepping forward and pinching each of their cheeks. She grins widely at their matching scowls and throws her arms around them, bringing them in close because she knows they hate shit like this. “I can’t believe you both openly admitted to missing me just now. Miracles really do happen when you believe.”

 

“Shut up.” Raven jabs Clarke in the stomach. “You’ll never be able to prove this actually happened. Everyone knows you’re delusional.”

 

“I have the proof in my heart.” Clarke taps herself on the sternum to accentuate her point. “That’s all I need.”

 

“You’re dumb,” says Octavia plainly. Then, as if she’s been hit with a revolutionary idea, “Why aren’t we holding drinks right now? This is an outrage!”

 

She lets go of Clarke and Raven, her intention probably to lead them over to the cooler full of beers at the edge of the backyard patio, but she trips over her own feet after a grand total of about five steps.

 

Clarke snorts. “That’s why.”

 

“Maybe you should take it easy for a little while, buddy.” Raven pats the top of Octavia’s head, smashing her hand down with unnecessary force while Octavia glares at her. “You haven’t even gotten to say hi to your boy yet.”

 

As if on cue, a deep voice sounds from behind the three of them, and they all turn to see who Clarke presumes is Lincoln. Raven had been right when she told Clarke that he is “the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome— _seriously_ , it’s like he’s genetically engineered, I don’t know, it’s fucking weird,” but it’s the easy, soft smile directed towards Octavia that wins Clarke over almost immediately. Octavia quickly settles herself underneath one of his arms, leaning against his broad chest and matching his smile, and Clarke feels the warmth of happiness pool in her stomach at the sight of their casual intimacy.

 

“Glad you ladies were able to make it out.” He notices Clarke right away, nodding in her direction. “I’m assuming you’re Clarke? It’s great to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

 

“Probably all shit talk and I can promise you none of it is true.” Clarke sticks her hand out and if she maybe misses Lincoln’s and fails entirely at offering a handshake, well—it’s been a night.

 

“Um, all of it is true,” Octavia interjects.

 

Raven, for her part, wastes no time in laughing loudly at Clarke’s mishap. “Please excuse her, she’s rarely allowed out of her cage. Even the most basic human tasks are difficult for her after so much time in the darkness.”

 

“Has anyone told you lately that you’re a dick? Because if not, here’s your friendly reminder.” Clarke knocks her shoulder into Raven’s, jostling her.

 

“Y’know, it’s hard to take your insults seriously when I just saw you offer someone a handshake and miss.”

 

They go back and forth trading insults for a few minutes before they realize that Lincoln and Octavia are nowhere to be found, the former undoubtedly having been dragged away by the latter somewhere inside. Clarke halfheartedly searches the crowd for them, but she knows they are long gone, likely for the rest of the night. The thought does not bother her, not really, especially not after seeing how comfortable Octavia looks around Lincoln. Octavia is a wild one to try to keep up with, but Clarke has the sneaking suspicion that Lincoln is more interested in appreciating that as opposed to changing it.

 

Raven pouts for a second, but then rolls her eyes and scoffs, “Of course they skipped out on us. O’s probably trying to get laid as we speak.”

 

“It’s hard out here for a pimp,” says Clarke absentmindedly. “Speaking of, I met the hottest girl I’ve probably ever seen in my life when I went to the bathroom.”

 

“Well, I know that’s not true. You see me every day. Sometimes even naked, when I feel like giving to the poor.”

 

“Sorry, _second_ hottest girl.”

 

“That’s more like it.”

 

Just as Clarke is about to open her mouth and describe the bathroom goddess in excruciating detail, she looks up past Raven to see the very subject of their conversation leaning casually against the wall closest to the doorway leading indoors. She is talking a to a slender blonde, nursing a beer in her hands and smiling lazily at whatever it was her companion was telling her. She looks even lovelier beneath the light of the pale moon above them (Clarke kind of hates it) and it is easier to see her high, defined cheekbones and perfect cut of her jaw. Truth be told, Clarke is still stuck somewhere between being bitter and turned on.

 

“Holy shit,” Clarke breathes out, averting her gaze before she could get caught. “That’s her.”

 

“Who?” Raven eyeballs the people nearest to them, narrowing her gaze with the effort it takes her to focus in her current state. “Point her out to me ’cause I definitely only see 4s around here.” She makes it a point to stare directly at Clarke.

 

“You’re a bitch and could you, like, maybe try to be subtle?” Clarke hisses back, noticing that the girl’s eyes were now sweeping her surroundings. “I kinda ran into her so she probably already thinks I’m a drunk mess. I don’t need to add stalker to my resume.”

 

Raven gives her a blank stare. “But you are a drunk mess.”

 

Clarke pauses, offended for less than a split second, and then shrugs. “Okay, yeah, that’s true, but she doesn’t need to know that.”

 

“Why don’t you just go and talk to her? Fucking point her out to me. I need to see her,” Raven replies, eyes still searching.

 

Clarke nods as discreetly as she can in the general direction of the woman, following Raven’s gaze until she was certain it landed on the correct target.

 

“Damn. I mean, _damn_.” Raven whistled lowly, brows raised. Then she plants a hard slap on Clarke’s back. “Keep dreaming, Griffin. She’s way out of your league.”

 

“When do we get to the part where you’re the supportive best friend?” Clarke glares, wincing at the sting Raven’s palm left. “She’s not that out of my league. I can clean up nicely too, okay.”

 

“Looks-wise? Nah, she’s not out of your league. You’re a dumbass, but you’re hot. Except, y’know, she actually looks like she has her life together.”

 

“Hey! I have my life together,” says Clarke defensively. She looks down at the jungle juice stain on her tank top. “Sorta.”

 

“Sure, pal…wait, she moved over right by the cooler. Now’s your chance! Pretend like you’re getting a beer and then it’s your time to shine and ask her if, by any chance, she would like to bang you.” Raven nods seriously to herself, as if she’s just given Clarke sound advice. “Actually, don’t even say anything. Just get on your knees in front of her. You wanna be clear about your intentions from the start, Clarke. Avoids complications. I had to learn that the hard way.”

 

“Wow. Why haven’t I come to you before? It seems like you’ve got it all figured out. I honestly don’t get why you’re single.”

 

“I’m going to ignore your sarcasm and do you a favor right about now.” As soon as she finishes speaking, Raven shoves Clarke in the general direction of Bathroom Goddess.

 

Clarke ends up stumbling forward, shooting a withering glance at Raven over her shoulder. Raven just grins maniacally and gives her a thumbs up in return. She gets what she wanted, though, because a drunk Clarke is not very hard to convince and she finds herself already making her way over to the cooler without even really realizing it. At the very least, even if she fails miserably and ends up embarrassing herself, Clarke tells herself she’ll get another beer out of it.

 

* * *

 

Lexa sees her approaching out of the corner of her eye.

 

(The girl from the bathroom, the one who had knocked into her earlier that night.)

 

She still looks less sober than Lexa feels, but Lexa can admit with little issue that the girl is attractive, with her golden, wavy hair and piercingly blue eyes. She looked like summer come to life in cut-offs and a loose tank top, skin bronze even in the dim lighting of the backyard. Lexa had thought she was pretty whenever they had run into each other just outside the bathroom, even with her face turned down toward her phone. She had also looked vaguely familiar, but she looked young enough that Lexa was mostly certain they had never had a class together.

 

Either way, she was doing her best to ignore the interest tugging in her stomach, chalking it up to all the alcohol she had consumed and too many lonely nights lately. Really, the last thing she needed in her life at the moment was drunken mistake.

 

She had only agreed to come to the party at Anya’s insistence, anyway. The other woman had harassed Lexa for weeks about how she should take advantage of what little summer there was left to enjoy herself before throwing herself into grad school and being a TA for the first time in her college career. After a particularly stressful day spent arranging all the material for the first day of class tomorrow, Lexa had caved, making the walk over to Lincoln’s house from her own to meet up with Anya earlier in the night. She figured she could allow herself a little freedom and entertainment before all of her time was swallowed up by academia again.

 

“You there, Lex? Do I have to dump some cold water on you?”

 

Lexa blinks, tuning back into whatever Anya was trying to explain. “Sorry, my mind’s all over the place tonight.”

 

Anya looks at her knowingly, eyes flicking over to the girl who had just stolen Lexa’s attention. “Oh, yeah? I think it’s on one particular thing, actually. So, who is she?”

 

Lexa does not need to look to know that Anya is referring to the blonde currently fishing a beer out of the cooler a few feet away from them. Her best friend was annoyingly observant like that.

 

 She shrugs as casually as she can. “No clue. She ran into me earlier while I was coming out of the bathroom.”

 

Anya looks skeptical, but accepts her explanation. “Sure. Hey, I’m gonna go find Lincoln and say good night. I have class early tomorrow and I would rather not start my final year in grad school feeling like a steaming pile of shit. You coming with?”

 

Lexa considers it for a moment, acutely aware of the girl still lingering nearby, taking a little bit too much time grabbing a beer. She shakes her head.

 

“I think I’m going to stay for a little while longer. I’m sure I’ll see you on campus somewhere tomorrow.”

 

Anya smirks, eyeing Lexa knowingly. She says nothing about it, though. “Suit yourself. I’ll see you tomorrow, Lex.”

 

Lexa ignores her pointed gestures and nods her goodbye instead, taking another swig from her beer. She should probably stop drinking at this point considering she was well past the point of being tipsy, but her lack of clearheadedness eased most of the discomfort she tended to feel in social situations. She is too busy studying the remaining people shuffling around outside to notice the arrival of the woman next to her until she starts speaking.

 

“Fancy seeing you here,” she says, amusement present in her eyes. They’re still a clear, bright blue even underneath the haziness the alcohol provoked. “I’m Clarke, by the way. I figured I should at least introduce myself after almost mowing you down into you earlier. I still feel kinda bad about it.”

 

Lexa is so caught off-guard by her presence that it takes her a few beats of silence to respond. “Lexa,” is all she says in return.

 

The girl—Clarke—looks like she is maybe thinking too hard about what to say next (not that Lexa would be in better shape initiating conversation with a complete stranger at a party). She may or may not be drunk enough that she thinks Clarke’s hesitation is, well, kind of cute. She pushes the thought away almost immediately, unwilling to cross into that dangerous territory. She had had a fair amount to drink and there was a high likelihood that she was going to end up making this situation worse if she continued to indulge those thoughts.

 

“Are you enjoying yourself, Lexa?” Clarke looks like she legitimately cares about the answer.

 

Lexa merely nods, still cautious about this girl who keeps making the effort to interact with her for seemingly no apparent reason. An awkward silence falls between them for a few brief moments and Lexa is already thinking up excuses to get away.

 

“So,” Clarke tries again slowly, regarding Lexa with curious, if a little bleary, eyes. “How do you know Lincoln?”

 

The host/mutual friend is always a safe topic, Lexa supposes.

 

“Grew up with him,” Lexa replies, bringing the beer bottle to her lips again.

 

Clarke’s face falls at receiving yet another short answer and Lexa feels kind of guilty because Clarke is being genuinely nice and she doesn’t really mean to be an asshole. It just sort of happens sometimes.

 

Sighing, she steels herself and continues, “What about you?”

 

Clarke looks a little surprised, as if she had gone into the conversation expecting to be the one to ask all the questions.

 

(Under any other circumstances, she would have been right.)

 

(Lexa finds that she is struggling to ignore the way Clarke watches her throat working with hooded eyes every time she drinks from her beer. She finds it even harder to ignore the heady rush of attraction she undoubtedly feels in response.)

 

“Oh, he’s dating one of my roommates. Just met him tonight, actually.” Clarke smiles ruefully and looks down. “That’s a weird thought considering I’m already drunk at his house. Please don’t let that tell you anything about me as a person.”

 

Lexa smiles a little. Clarke’s honesty is beguiling and there is a genuineness that radiates from her that makes Lexa feel more comfortable than she normally would with someone she had just met. Mostly, she feels like she doesn’t have to impress Clarke—that she would be happy to sit and listen to her talk about anything—and it makes her feel more at ease than she has in a while.

 

“What else is college for if not for consuming alcohol in random places?”

 

With that, Lexa finishes the rest of her beer. She looks to see that the trashcan is located across the yard, next to a few empty lawn chairs. Before she can think too hard on it, Lexa looks back to Clarke. “Would you like to join me in the lap of luxury over there?”

 

Clarke’s eyes light up at that and Lexa feels something warm in her chest at how excited she looks at the simple invitation. _She’s a human golden retriever_. The thought makes her laugh to herself a little.

 

“Lead the way.”

 

* * *

 

About half an hour later, Lexa is another two beers deep (so much for cutting herself off) and well into an engrossing conversation with Clarke. At this point, her mind feels pleasantly numb, free from all of the thoughts at are normally incessantly buzzing in her brain. She doesn’t know what she was expecting when she extended the invitation for Clarke to sit with her, but it definitely wasn’t this: easy interaction and barely contained laughter. And maybe it is the alcohol clouding her judgment, but Lexa thinks that Clarke might be flirting a little, too (or she just makes a habit of staring at people’s lips when they talk).

 

She learns that Clarke is going into her sophomore year (it makes Lexa feel old, even if it isn’t really a big gap) and is on the starting lineup for the soccer team, which explains why Lexa had thought she looked familiar. She lives off-campus with two of her best friends from the soccer team and she’s from Boston (“Bah-ston,” Clarke said, exaggerating the accent and delighting in Lexa’s subsequent laugh), which Lexa had definitely not expected to hear. Clarke was the embodiment of California, of the warm sunshine and clear skies. Lexa learns that she is caught between wanting to continue on her Pre-Med track or switch to art, both of which surprise her because, if she is being honest, she had sort of written Clarke off just another drunk girl at a party.

 

Despite their apparent and obvious intoxication, conversation flows steadily between them and before long, Lexa finds her defenses have fallen just enough to forget why she should not be indulging in this attraction in the first place. She was hardly the type to meet people at random parties, but Clarke made it all too simple for her to relax and enjoy being in the present. It was disarming, to say the least.

 

“So, what do you like to do for fun then? If this isn’t the activity of choice.” Clarke is leaning forward, regarding Lexa with rapt attention.

 

They were on the topic of hobbies and Lexa had learned that Clarke’s life outside of school and soccer mostly consisted of hanging out with her roommates and painting—“Well, whenever I feel inspired by something beautiful,” she had said, looking up at Lexa through her lashes.

 

Lexa shrugs. “I don’t have a lot of free time, actually. I usually take about 19 credit hours per semester so most of my time is spent studying.”

 

“How do you even function taking all of those classes?” There’s a smile playing at the corner of Clarke’s lips and Lexa is having a hard time keeping her eyes off of the freckle above her lip. “I almost died with my schedule last year and it was nowhere near as bad. But soccer keeps me pretty busy too, I guess. It’s hard to feel that way about it when I love it so much.”

 

Lexa bites her lip when she sees the fondness that overtake Clarke’s features as she discusses her favorite past-time. If Lexa had a weakness for anything, it was listening to people talk about something they genuinely enjoy. That kind of enthusiasm was infectious and impossible to fake.

 

“Sometimes I wish I were more athletically inclined, but I’ll settle for yoga. Hopefully, I can balance all of that with the TA job I’m starting too.”

 

Lexa picks at the hem of her shirt, avoiding Clarke’s gaze. It is not often that she admits to being overwhelmed and it is an unfamiliar feeling to be divulging all of this to someone who is still, essentially, a stranger to her. Not for the first time that night, she blames the openness Clarke inspires in her on the alcohol.

 

“So, you’re telling me that you’re taking that insane course load _and_ you signed up to be in another classroom as your job?” Clarke’s blue eyes are wide and blinking at Lexa in awe. “Holy shit. How do you do it?”

 

Lexa can’t help but laugh at the shocked expression on Clarke’s face. She’s just—so _cute_ , which isn’t a thought that Lexa has often about people, but Clarke is wholly endearing.

 

“I guess I don’t really consider it a job. I enjoy learning. It’s like you with soccer.” Lexa shrugs again. “It helps keep my mind off things, most of the time.”

 

She watches Clarke tug her bottom lip in between her teeth, feeling the act in the pit of her stomach. _This is bad_ , Lexa thinks, _really, really bad_. Then again, she was steadily getting closer and closer to not caring at all anymore. Clarke, Lexa is quickly learning, has a knack for pulling her out of her self-imposed protective shell. She cannot remember the last time someone captured her interest and attention this easily. That alone was an issue in and of itself—nevermind the attraction that Lexa felt was almost swallowing her whole, despite her best efforts to leave it mostly unacknowledged.

 

“What else helps keep your mind off things?”

 

Lexa almost chokes on her own spit. She is not sure whether or not Clarke had meant the statement suggestively, but she makes the mistake of catching Clarke's eye regardless. She is not prepared for the hunger she finds in Clarke’s stare, or the pink flash of Clarke’s tongue wetting her lips. The air between them suddenly feels heavy with tension, and Lexa finds herself struggling to swallow past it. Clarke is staring at Lexa’s mouth again, as if she needed further convincing of Clarke's intentions with her.

 

“Maybe that’s a topic better discussed in private,” She finally replies. Her cheeks are burning at her own answer, but the Blue Moon in her system is making it too easy to match Clarke’s suggestiveness.

 

(It also makes it easy to quiet the voice in the back of Lexa’s head that insists on reminding her that she is drunk and flirting with a random undergrad student in the backyard at a party.)

 

But, well, _fuck it_ , Lexa has resigned herself to thinking—Clarke is beautiful and flirting with her, Lexa is wildly attracted to her, and she cannot remember the last time she did something without getting too caught up in the possible consequences. Maybe Anya was right about needing to let loose (she probably did not mean to this extent, but that was a thought for another time).

 

“Oh, yeah?” Clarke is smirking in this vaguely shit-head way that Lexa should definitely not find attractive, but definitely does. “And where would be a more appropriate place?”

 

Lexa knows the minute she hears Clarke’s answer that this is a mistake they are both (happily) going to make.

 

“My place is just down the street.”

 

* * *

 

It _should_ feel weird (because they barely know each other), but it doesn’t, and Lexa briefly thinks that maybe that’s the weird part about all of this, and not how she’s straddling Clarke’s lap on the couch inside her house after having just met a few hours prior. Clarke’s hands on Lexa’s hips feel sure and steady, confident in a way that keeps Lexa on her toes. Their mouths have been pressed together since they stepped through the threshold of the house, an unspoken agreement about what they were about to do settling between them. It’s been a long time since Lexa found herself in this type of situation, but at this point, she is too far gone to put a stop to it—and she doesn’t want to, but she chooses to focus less on that.

 

When her lungs start to burn for air, she pulls back from their kiss, opting instead to pepper smaller ones along the curve of Clarke’s jaw. She pauses when her lips touch Clarke’s pulse point, enjoying the sensation of it beating like moth’s wings against her mouth.

 

“We should - um, we should stop,” mumbles Clarke right then.

 

Lexa can feel her shivering beneath underneath her; her skin is hot to the touch.

 

“If you want,” says Lexa slowly. Her lips seem to have trouble cooperating as she mouths over the exposed skin of Clarke’s collarbone, drawing a soft sigh in return.

 

“It’s not - , ” Clarke pauses, swallowing hard when Lexa gets to work on leaving a bruise on the hollow between her neck and shoulder. “I just don’t know if I’ll be able to stop, if you keep doing this. If we keep doing this, I mean, and I don’t know how you feel going that far with me.”

 

Lexa pauses as that, leaning back and admiring her handiwork for a moment. She moves her hands to Clarke’s shoulders, blinking slowly. “Do you want to? Stop, that is—because to be honest, I thought this was going one particular way since left the party together.”

 

Clarke laughs and Lexa immediately tenses, dropping her hands down to her sides. Clarke shakes her head, pulling her hands back out and lacing their fingers together. “I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing at how fucking clueless I am.”

 

Clarke looks up at her then, eyes dark and hooded. She smiles, and it’s slow and lazy—Lexa finds it impossible to ignore the flutter that erupts in her stomach at the sight and chooses instead to focus on the steady rise and fall of Clarke’s chest, the tousled strands of golden hair that Lexa wants nothing more than to further muss up. She _wants_ Clarke— it burns hotly beneath her skin and at the pit of her stomach. Whether or not their paths will cross again after tonight is not exactly at the forefront of her mind when Clarke has been trying so hard to dismantle her all night.

 

If Lexa really thinks about it, she probably should have realized that Clarke had likely gotten her hook, line, and sinker. Her pride wants to make it harder for Clarke to pull her apart, but a bigger part of her enjoys entertaining the thought that she had been in Clarke's sights all night.

 

“You’re beautiful,” says Clarke suddenly, interrupting her train of thought.

 

Her voice is quiet and a little slurred, but it catches Lexa off-guard how sincere Clarke sounds - like she’s never meant anything before she meant that. She can’t fight off the blush that warms her cheeks and the bloom of affection she feels in her chest. _Well, that's...alarming_ , Lexa thinks, but she is not sure how much she actually means it.

 

“You’re also more than a little drunk,” Lexa counters.

 

She tries to keep the vulnerability out of her voice, but she’s not so sure she succeeds. Alcohol does rather inconvenient things to her defenses, it turns out. Nevertheless, Lexa brings her hands up to the sides of Clarke’s neck, stroking and reveling in the softness of the skin there.

 

“Yes,” Clarke concedes, leaning into Lexa’s touch. She smiles again and Lexa burns all over. “But I can handle my liquor and I have a feeling that the alcohol has nothing to do with me thinking that.”

 

Lexa doesn’t know what to say to that, so she kisses Clarke again, hard, keeping herself from breathing “so are you” into the space they share. She moves away for just a moment to take her shirt off, carelessly tossing it to the side, and then Clarke is looking at her with so much awe in her gaze that it makes it hard for Lexa to breathe. She watches as Clarke moves her hands forward tentatively, settling over Lexa’s stomach and merely feeling for a minute before traveling back toward her spine. Lexa’s whole body goosebumps, and she lets her eyes close shut when Clarke’s fingertips reach her bra clasp.

 

Moments later, she feels the careful touch of Clarke’s lips on her sternum and the material slipping off and down her arms. By this point, she would normally feel the need to curl away shyly, to hide and protect herself - but she doesn’t, not at all. She feels safe, and wanted, and all she wants to do is make Clarke feel the same way, consequences be damned.

 

“You’re so beautiful,” Clarke repeats, making her way over the newly exposed skin of Lexa’s chest. Her hands grip at Lexa’s hipbones, and it feels like she is desperate to make her believe.

 

“Take this off,” Lexa says instead, tugging at Clarke’s belt, rushed and just this side of breathless.

 

Clarke laughs a little against her mouth, reaching down to grab Lexa’s hands and keeping them still. “Patience.”

 

Lexa huffs in frustration, loosening the leather until the buttonhole pops free. There’s something about listening to the sound of the belt come undone that pushes Lexa into a frenzy and she quickly pops open Clarke’s cutoffs. Clarke, for her part, leans back against the couch with her hands behind her head and watches the focused set of Lexa’s gaze as she works to release her of her shorts. Lexa moves up off of Clarke to kneel on the floor in front of her; she pulls the zipper down slowly, watching Clarke watch her movements. It kind of turns her on, Clarke observing her every move like this.

 

She makes a bit of a show of it, sliding Clarke’s shorts off first, dragging them at a nearly glacial pace until they hit the floor. Clarke is smirking, but the dazed way she’s looking at Lexa lets her know that she’s already won this battle. Rather than give Clarke what she wants, Lexa runs her hands over the tops of her thighs first, fingertips digging in hard enough to leave imprints of her fingertips.

 

“You’re not playing fair,” whines Clarke, leaning even further back. There’s something downright obscene about seeing Clarke like this, blue eyes dark and wild and determined. Lexa can’t remember the last time she wanted anything, anyone, as much as she wants her.

 

“When did I agree to be fair?”

 

Clarke simply looks at Lexa for a long moment before moving herself forward, reaching until she can grab Lexa’s arms and tug her back up again. Lexa is mildly surprised, but lets herself be pulled nonetheless, settling her legs on either side of Clarke’s lap.

 

“Come here,” Clarke murmurs, arms wrapping together behind the small of Lexa’s back, tightening until their bodies are flush against one another.

 

Lexa hums low in her throat. “You do know where I was going with that, right?”

 

She moves her thumb to trace Clarke’s mouth, dark red and somewhat swollen. Clarke kisses it, regarding Lexa for the longest moment as she does so. She doesn’t answer her, choosing instead to maneuver them so Lexa is lying on her back along the length of the couch, Clarke hovering carefully over her. Lexa takes the opportunity to slow down and let her hands feel from the lean muscle of Clarke’s arms all the way down to the ridges on her abdomen.

 

“You first,” Clarke finally responds, nosing Lexa’s hair away from her neck to place kisses wherever her mouth can reach.

 

Lexa’s breath catches in her throat when Clarke starts to travel downward. The sight of Clarke’s head steadily getting further and further away is overwhelming, so her eyes flit up to the ceiling. Her breathing sounds harsh and loud in the quiet stillness of the house when she feels rather than sees Clarke’s teeth tugging at the band of her jeans. She can’t help the whimper that escapes her while Clarke carefully undresses her in one go. Lexa feels so sensitive to everything—the heat of Clarke’s breath on her thigh, the feeling of her long fingers grazing the outside of her hips, the strands of her hair lightly tickling her calves.

 

Lexa almost comes undone as soon as the warm pressure of Clarke’s mouth is on her, teasing and exploratory. Her eyes fly shut, her hands automatically burying themselves in golden hair, pulling and knotting. When Clarke hums her approval, Lexa feels it everywhere. The entire room feels too small and too warm—for a moment, she’s genuinely worried that she’s going to catch on fire. Her whole body feels taut, pulled tense like the arrow on a bow. She does not know if it is the alcohol or Clarke’s touch that is making her dizzy, or maybe it’s a combination of both. Clarke is taking her time and Lexa doesn’t realize she’s holding her breath until her lungs start to ache with the effort of it.

 

Clarke pauses to whisper, “Breathe.”

 

And Lexa does, expelling it slowly and shakily. She feels like she’s losing her mind in all of it, like there’s too much for her body and for her senses to take in all at once. She catches herself thinking that she wants to remember all of this in the morning. The warmth of Clarke, the way she unfurls Lexa so delicately. The soft, almost shy noises escaping the back of her throat and the way she repeats Lexa’s name like a prayer under her breath.

 

Lexa knows Clarke can tell she is close by the way the hands in her hair tighten, from the way Lexa’s abdomen tenses beneath her palms. Clarke moves her mouth away to kiss at the curve of Lexa’s hipbone for a moment, smiling against the skin when she hears Lexa whine in protest. She scrapes her teeth over the spot before biting down, drawing a hiss from Lexa and leaving an angry, red mark that will serve as a reminder to her that Clarke had been there.

 

When Clarke resumes her previous ministrations, it’s almost enough to send Lexa over the edge. She’s arching off the couch now, pushing up and into Clarke’s mouth as much as she can without causing discomfort. It only takes another series of gasping breaths and Lexa is gone, breathless when her eyes flick downward to take in the sight of Clarke on her. She feels as though her skin can barely contain her, and Clarke is working her down carefully, gradually slowing until she comes to a full stop.

 

Lexa is still struggling to catch her breath when Clarke crawls her way back up, resting her head on Lexa’s chest and stretching out the length of her body as best as she can on the narrow couch.

 

“You okay?” She murmurs into the darkness.

 

Lexa expels a few more hard breaths before tilting Clarke’s face up to meet her in another kiss. She draws back just enough to mumble against Clarke's mouth. “You’re still wearing too much clothing.”

 

She feels Clarke’s impish smile. “Then I guess you better fix that.”

 

Lexa wastes no time in pulling Clarke’s shirt and bra off in one smooth motion, her hands coming to rest on the bare skin of her waist. Clarke is smooth everywhere that Lexa touches, her body the perfect combination of soft curves and lean muscle.

 

“Up,” says Lexa, nudging Clarke to adjust their positions until her legs are bracketing Lexa’s hips. Clarke is kissing her again and Lexa returns the act with equal fervor, letting her hands wander down to to run over muscular thighs. She feels Clarke shiver in response and it encourages her to keep going even further. She takes her time, deciding in the midst of it that since this is likely the only time she will have Clarke in her (metaphorical) bed, she is going to do it right. However, it isn’t too long before she lets her hand wander up to where Clarke needs her the most, letting her fingertips feel with light, maddening touches. When Clarke’s mouth falls open at the sensation, Lexa uses the opportunity to let her tongue glide along the length of Clarke’s bottom lip before pulling it gently into her mouth.

 

She can tell by the way that Clarke is shaking above her and the almost painful grip she has on Lexa’s shoulders that it probably won’t take her too long. Lexa feels the sudden urge to drag it out, to take every moment to savor every part of Clarke, every breath, every sigh. When she slows her pace down, Clarke lets out a low whine.

 

“Why are you trying to make me suffer? I’m a good person, I promise.” Clarke’s voice has dropped an octave, the huskiness of it affecting Lexa more than she wants to admit.

 

She laughs lowly, her lips brushing Clarke’s every time her mouth moves. “I like taking my time. Is that a problem?”

 

Clarke’s pupils are blown and her mouth is kiss-swollen and the sight of her this worked up almost makes Lexa rethink her decision. _Almost_.

 

“It is when I want you like I do right now,” says Clarke, huffing. She moves forward and plants a kiss on the corner of Lexa’s mouth. “We can do slow later, yeah?”

 

Lexa hums, pressing into Clarke more firmly with her fingertips. “You’re not in a position to bargain right now, though, are you?”

 

She feels a burst of satisfaction at Clarke’s strangled gasp, but she finds herself letting out a hiss quickly afterward when Clarke delivers a sharp bite to her bottom lip. She draws back a little again, choosing to move her fingers without any real sense of purpose, enjoying the noises she keeps dragging from low in Clarke’s throat. Clarke, for her part, is breathing harshly against Lexa’s mouth, attempting to grind her hips down in search of more contact, more of anything.

 

Lexa surges forward to press their mouths together again, the contact sloppy and hard and desperate, before slipping inside Clarke more fully. Lexa feels rather than hears Clarke’s moan and it is all she can do when she takes control, moving her hand down to keep Lexa’s wrist in place while she determines the rhythm with canting hips.

 

When Lexa looks up, she catches the sight of Clarke’s head thrown back, her mouth open in a silent cry, brows furrowed with effort. She looks gorgeous losing herself to Lexa like this, and everything around them is coated in a pleasant, soft haze. Every single one of Lexa’s senses is inundated with Clarke, with this moment. For a fleeting minute, it feels eternal.

 

“Lexa—fuck,” Clarke groans out, her breath staccato and sharp in the silence of the room.

 

Lexa smooths a kiss to the dip between her collarbones, murmuring, “Let go, Clarke.”

 

And she does. Lexa anchors her with a hand on the small of her back, pulling her close and swallowing all of the soft noises she makes. She lets Clarke ride it all out for as long as she needs, dropping kisses all across her chest, careful to keep her hand still in case Clarke was too sensitive afterward. After several long moments, Clarke slumps forward bonelessly, dropping her forehead onto Lexa’s shoulder.

 

“Holy shit.”

 

Lexa laughs at that. “Yes, that sounds like the typical reaction.”

 

Clarke snorts and pokes Lexa in the ribs. “I would tell you to go fuck yourself but one, I already did that and two, I can’t say anything to disprove that considering the orgasm you just gave me. Thanks for that, by the way.”

 

Lexa laughs again. “Thank you too.”

 

They’re quiet for a moment, giving themselves time to bask in the afterglow, ignoring the sticky sweat between their bodies. Clarke turns her head to continue mouthing over the column of Lexa’s neck, the contact gentle and barely there. Lexa figures she should probably extricate her hand from Clarke so she does, whispering an apology when Clarke winces a little.

 

“That...was definitely not how I pictured my night ending,” murmurs Lexa, leaning back on the couch and letting her eyes drift shut. It felt nice having some time to recover from the intensity of what had just transpired. “But I can’t say that I mind.”

 

Clarke fixes her with a mischievous look and smirks. “Who says the night is over?”

 

Lexa figures she should probably give up on the idea that she was going to be getting any sleep that night, which was just as well. If she’s being honest, there’s a significant part of her—the one that was adamant on throwing caution to the wind tonight—that _desperately_ wants to make the most out of their remaining time together. It’s one, single night out of the other thousand that Lexa spends working her life away, already too busy for any sort of romantic entanglements. It’s not like it was going to get easier to allow herself these things once school started so really, this could be considered a last hurrah. Yeah, Lexa thinks she can give herself a night. For just a few hours, she can let herself have Clarke and her blue, blue eyes and loud laughter.

 

And when Clarke brings their mouths together again, Lexa gives up on thinking at all.

 

* * *

 

The alarm is ringing.

 

Probably has been for several minutes by the time Lexa’s sleep-addled brain manages to register the fact. Groaning, she rolls over and swipes her thumb across the screen, stopping the hellish noise. As soon as she moves, her stomach is roiling, threatening to empty its contents all over her bed. It takes at least a few minutes of laying still for it to stop.

 

“I hate myself,” Lexa mutters darkly, reaching for her phone again. “Why do I ever think it’s a fucking good idea to drink?”

 

She has a message from Anya and another from Lincoln, who was probably giving her shit for having left the party last night without even saying goodbye.

 

Just like that, the entire night floods into Lexa’s brain—flashes of blonde hair, soft skin, gasping breaths. It’s been a while since she had had a one-night stand, let alone a drunken one, but Clarke had definitely made it worth the wait. Lexa almost blushes when she recalls the night in its entirety, and how it had only ended after hours and hours of unrestrained, desperate touching. As far as intoxicated decisions go, Lexa has made far, far worse; Clarke had been surprisingly funny and sweet, and had seemed genuinely interested in everything they’d talked about. She wasn’t awful to stare at either (so that might be a bit of an understatement) ( ~~it’s kind of a huge understatement~~ ).

 

Still, despite all the ways in which she caught Lexa off-guard, Clarke was barely going into her sophomore year of undergrad and she was a _jock_ , for crying out loud. She highly doubts their Real Lives are anything alike or that they’re even slightly compatible outside of intense sexual attraction. Which was why Clarke had been the perfect, brief getaway for Lexa.

 

Unsurprisingly, Clarke is nowhere to be found when Lexa walks through her living room and into the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee. She does, however, spot Clarke’s panties by the corner of the couch.

 

“I’m trash,” she mumbles again to herself, rolling her neck to relieve some of the tension and making a mental note to pick those up later.

 

Her head is pounding something fierce and she knows her first day is going to be a struggle, but she thinks the look on Anya’s face when she tells her just why she’s so exhausted will probably be worth it. The thought triggers the memory of Clarke smirking at Lexa, teasing her about having thought that the night would have ended so early, and she smiles a little to herself. _Yeah, definitely worth it_.

 

* * *

 

By the time Lexa makes it to the lecture hall where the class she is a TA for is being held, there are only two minutes left until it starts. She would have been considerably earlier had she not needed to take a bathroom break to empty the last of her breakfast in the toilets by the student union.

 

(It’s been a rough day.)

 

She had endured ruthless teasing from Anya earlier before she had even opened her mouth because, as it turns out, in her rush to get ready this morning, Lexa had failed to notice the hickey right at the base of her neck (“Looks like someone took my advice on having fun a little too far last night.”) How she managed to go so long without noticing was beyond her because Clarke had really done an admirable job on that one. If she wasn’t so dreadfully hungover, Lexa probably would have been more upset about it. As it stands, she had practically crawled her way across campus, unshowered and unkempt, to all of her classes and had yet to take her sunglasses off since she left the house this morning—would a hickey even affect her appearance at this point? No. She was positive she looked like a mess regardless and was way past the point of really even caring what her peers thought of her. It was hard to put in the effort when you woke up feeling like twice microwaved shit.

 

Still, despite her less than ideal start to the semester so far, Lexa felt a prickle of excitement as she began setting out her notes for class. She had been meticulous and thorough, attempting to make the information as easy to understand as possible for the students. The professor—an intimidating force of a woman who preferred to simply go by “Indra”—gave a grueling, comprehensive course that slowed down for no one, so Lexa was determined to make sure each student in the class had a good grasp on the challenging material from the very beginning. It would certainly make her own job easier later on in terms of having to tutor any struggling students.

 

Lexa is so caught up in her thoughts that she fails to notice her sitting down until she takes her own seat near the professor’s desk and looks up.

 

“Her” being Clarke. As in, the Clarke she had slept with last night, the one who she had no intention of ever seeing again (apparently, the universe is a real dick and had other plans).

 

Lexa feels her eyes widen, stomach dropping right down to her knees. _No, no, no, there’s no fucking way_. There is no conceivable way that Clarke is in this classroom right now, as a fucking _student_.

 

Did people frequently hallucinate when they were really hungover?

 

But then she—Clarke—finally takes notice of Lexa blatantly staring and she has a similar expression of surprise on her face.

 

 _This is it. This is the universe punishing me for being a drunk moron. “Have some fun, Lex!” “What could possibly go wrong?” “Lighten up!” This_ , Lexa thinks in a panic, _This is exactly what can go wrong. What kind of twisted life lesson is this? ‘Don’t get drunk at a college party or else you’ll end up fucking one of your undergrad students before the first day of class even happens.’_

 

Murphy’s Law, right?

 

Clarke gives her a weak wave.

 

_Fuck. My. Life._


	2. part two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Lexa figure a few things out, like Real Life Adults.
> 
> ...and then they promptly complicate them all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lord almighty, was this a struggle to get out. i had a certain word count and plot points i wanted to work in before i could post so thank you all for sticking with me through these long months. i'm so surprised and humbled by the response i've gotten from everyone; it's been a long time since i published anything, especially something that's this lengthy. i really appreciate the feedback so keep it coming! xx
> 
> p.s. this chapter (and most of this work) is dedicated to my irl fwb @firetestsgold idk how to tag u but you already know this is for you

In the interest of full disclosure: this is not the first time Clarke Griffin has wobbled up the steps to her apartment at 3 A.M., still slightly drunk and reeling from a sexual encounter.

 

However, this _is_ the first time it feels like an injustice for Clarke to lump someone in with the other casual experiences she’s had—if she thought that she’d had great sex before, then what happened with Lexa was something else entirely. Sure, Clarke usually enjoyed drunk sex; it was liberating in a strange way, and the carelessness of it always made it easier to laugh with her partner. While that was all certainly present with Lexa, Clarke had also felt an instant connection, overpowering and overwhelming, one that she was fairly positive extended past mutual attraction. It _almost_ made her sad that it was all a one-time deal, but she was mostly glad that she was able to experience it at all. Besides, after everything that had happened last year with Finn, Clarke wasn’t too keen on the idea of anything even remotely serious (actually, the thought of commitment of kind of makes her want to run far, far away at a dead sprint in the opposite direction—experts say that walking in on a cheating boyfriend tends to do that to most people).

 

There was also a tiny part of Clarke that really _did_  think Lexa was out of her league in some ways; she was sophisticated and poised and collected, even when drunk. Still, she quickly learned that there were two sides of Lexa: the naturally quiet, serious one with few words to say, and the one with a dry, sarcastic sense of humor and an affinity for watching Clarke fall apart beneath her. Both sides are lovely, Clarke decides, and she would have really liked to get to know all the other ones she somehow knows are there.

 

Well, she at least got a few memorable orgasms and quality conversation out of it, so Clarke counts it as a complete success.

 

By the time she finally manages to conquer the stairs, Clarke realizes how exhausted (and sore, already) the night has left her. She only has about two or three hours before she needs to be up and ready for practice, but even that sounds heavenly to her. She is in the middle of digging through her purse in search of her keys, somehow failing to notice the sound of someone else already opening the door.

 

“Clarke?”

 

At the sound of Raven’s slightly slurred whisper, Clarke’s head whips up. “What the fuck? I wasn’t even being that loud!”

 

“Oh—um, no, I didn’t even hear you. I was just—,” Raven starts, gesticulating wildly to the darkness behind her, but is quickly interrupted by a male voice from further inside the apartment.

 

“Babe? Is everything okay?”

 

A male voice that is very much _Bellamy Blake's_.

 

A male that is very much Bellamy Blake had just called Raven “babe” and was leaving their apartment at approximately 3:23 A.M., just as Clarke was getting in from her own one-night stand.

 

“This is unbelievable,” Clarke crows, laughter already bursting forth from deep within her belly. “This is the best thing that could have ever happened to me, ever. ‘Babe’? Is this _real fucking life_?”

 

“Fuck— _Clarke_? Is that you?” Bellamy is approaching the doorway now and Clarke can see his groggy gaze and wayward hair.

 

“Who else would it be?” Raven snaps. She turns back to Clarke and smirks, waggling her eyebrows. “So, where are _you_  coming from?”

 

Clarke holds her pointer finger up, huffing indignantly. “Don’t try and take this moment from me by turning the attention on who I just slept with! I can see right through your mind games, Raven Reyes. When were you guys planning on tell me you’re boning each other? This is fucking disgusting, by the way—if I wanted the image of two inbred little trolls getting horizontal with each other seared into my brain, I would’ve just asked Murphy for his browsing history.”

 

“ _Shut up_ ,” hisses Raven. She look around suspiciously and then continues, “You can’t tell Octavia.”

 

“What? Why not?” It feels kind of weird for her to withhold anything from either of her best friends and she’s about to say so, but then a lightbulb goes off in Clarke’s head.

 

She could _totally_ blackmail both of them with this. Amazing.

 

“Because,” Bellamy sighs, having enough sense to be irritated now that his brain has caught up with his body, “She threatened to kill me if I ever hooked up with either of you. She thinks it’ll make things awkward. We’ll tell her eventually, just not right now. We figured if we give it time and prove that it doesn’t really change things then she’ll be cool with it.”

 

Clarke considers it for a moment and then decides she understands that well enough. She shrugs. “Okay, sure, I’ll keep it to myself. Unless either of you do something to piss me off, then all bets are off.”

 

Raven and Bellamy exchange a glance, nodding in unison ( _Gross_ , Clarke thinks).

 

“Deal,” says Raven. She fixes Clarke with another smirk. “Okay, but seriously. _Please_ tell me that you banged Lincoln’s hot neighbor.”

 

“Wait, what?” Bellamy looks between them incredulously and then stares at Clarke. “ _Lexa_? Is this a joke? There’s no fucking way you have that much game!”

 

Clarke scoffs, shoving him. “Fuck off, prick. Also, can we take this inside? So I can ignore you while I’m in the comfort of my own home.”

 

Raven and Bellamy move away from the doorway, making a beeline towards Clarke’s room. Both of them plop down on her bed unceremoniously while she begins to move around the room, getting ready to go to bed.

 

“Wait, how did you know she’s Lincoln’s neighbor?” asks Clarke, shooting Raven a questioning glance before stepping into the bathroom to change into a pair of pajama shorts and a t-shirt. She sticks her head back out and glares at the two on the bed. “Don’t be gross.”

 

“Don’t tell me how to live my life and I asked O if she knew her whenever we met back up, like 20 minutes after you left to go talk to her,” Clarke hears Raven call out. “Turns out she hangs out with Lincoln and their other friend, Anya, a lot. I met her too—blonde, terrifying, pretty much as bangin’ as Lexa.”

 

The woman Clarke first saw Lexa talking to, she realizes. _That's weird_ , she thinks—it’s starting to sink in more and more that Lexa is not as removed from Clarke’s life as she originally thought. She finds that she does not know how to really feel about it either way.

 

“Weird,” Clarke repeats out loud. When she finishes getting dressed, she steps back out into her room. She can’t help the tone of satisfaction that creeps into her next words, “To answer your question, yes, I was just at Lexa’s.”

 

“Miracles happen,” says Raven, almost disbelievingly. Then, smugly, “You’re in my debt now. I’m the only reason for why that happened in the first place.”

 

“Oh, yeah, sorry, I forgot the part where you had the conversation for me and then gave me a step-by-step lesson on how to give her an org—”

 

“The important part, Clarke,” Raven interjects, holding up a hand to indicate silence—Clarke gasps at the _blatant disrespect_ —“Is that _I_ was the one who gave you an inspirational speech and shoved you in her direction.”

 

“Um, you told me to get on my knees without saying anything else.”

 

“Okay, but consider this, mi amigo: _I shoved you in her direction_.”

 

“Can we get back to the part where Clarke tells us about hooking up with Lexa?” Bellamy leans forward onto his knees. “This is a topic of discussion that I take very seriously.”

 

Raven punches him in the shoulder. “You’re a pig.” Then, to Clarke, “But how many times did you guys fuck?”

 

Bellamy’s mouth drops open and he throws his hands up in defeat. “Oh, but that’s fair game? Cool.”

 

“Can you both shut up for two seconds?” Clarke glares at them with as much force as she can muster (which is not much, considering she is still a little drunk and essentially half-asleep.) “It’s way too late for me to get into any details, but yeah, I left the party with Lexa. Yes, that means what you both think it means. Now, can I please get some sleep so that I don’t feel even more like death tomorrow?”

 

Raven groans in disappointment and then rolls her eyes. “Fine. _Fine_! You can have your precious sleep, but I’m going to want to know everything on our way to practice in the morning.”

 

“Whatever, sure, just get out of my room,” Clarke waves the both of them off. She would have promised anyone anything if it meant getting into the warmth of her bed.

 

The pair say their goodbyes and head out of Clarke’s room with no more protests, thankfully; she heaves out a sigh of relief and let’s herself flop onto the mattress. There are no words for how good it feels to be finally in her bed and it takes only seconds before she falls into a deep, dreamless sleep, all thoughts of the party and Lexa dissipating to the edges of her mind.

 

* * *

 

Clarke legitimately cannot remember the last time she was this hungover—and that includes the time she polished off a 24-pack of Dos Equis in two hours because Bellamy had smirked at her and said, " _You won't,_ " so Clarke _did_.

 

(Honestly, that’s easily Clarke’s favorite personal achievement to date.)

 

Raven and Octavia were in similar states, the former in the passenger seat and the latter sprawled out haphazardly in the back (they had bullied Clarke into driving them to practice, of course). Every sharp movement of the car sent all of their stomachs roiling, each of them gagging almost every time; Clarke was fully prepared to make sudden pit stops for any of them to throw up. On top of that, running drills and sprinting for two and a half hours in the heat actually sounded like the ninth circle of hell. Not for the first time that morning, Clarke had to wonder why they were masochistic enough to do this to themselves.

 

Not that last night had not been worth it, though.

 

She had woken with a raging headache (well, Octavia had barged into her room and woken her up by jumping on her bed repeatedly) and the memory of Lexa’s mouth fresh on her mind. But Clarke did not have much time to retrace the memories of the night given that her obnoxious roommate immediately started harassing her for details, much like Raven had a few hours prior. She had received the same answer: wait for the car ride.

 

“So,” says Octavia from the back seat, sitting up so that she can shoot Clarke a shit-eating grin in the rearview mirror. “I think we’ve waited long enough to hear all about about last night, you lucky bitch.”

 

“Seriously,” agrees Raven, flicking Clarke on the side of the head (Clarke shot her a glare in return, which she naturally ignored.) “I still can’t believe you somehow managed to talk Lexa into fucking you. Like, _what_? How drunk was she, really? Was she blacked out? Did you have to bribe her?”

 

“Obviously, it was my can-do attitude that did it,” Clarke deadpans.

 

Octavia ignores her and looks over at Raven, nodding in agreement. “For real. If I had known that a few drinks would help erase a terrible personality, I would’ve gone for it a long time ago. You know, sometimes when I come over and she’s hanging out with Lincoln after they’ve just been to the gym, I stare at Lexa’s ass more than I stare at his abs.” She exhales loudly, clapping Raven and Clarke each on their shoulder. “It feels really liberating to say that out loud, guys, thanks for your support.”

 

“I think you should really evaluate what means, O.” Raven snorts, turning around to leer at Octavia.

 

“You guys are assholes,” interrupts Clarke again, rolling her eyes (and then wincing at how it agitates her headache.) Then, thoughtfully, “I mean, I definitely didn’t expect the night to go that way. She was kind of uptight at first—”

 

“‘Kind of’? The first five times I interacted with her, she wouldn’t say more than three words to me,” says Octavia, scoffing. “I thought she hated me.”

 

“I’m not sure why she doesn’t. You’re the devil.” Raven yelps when Octavia leans forward to land a hard punch on her arm.

 

Clarke ignores them both (as she tends to do most of the time) and continues, “ _Anyway_ , no, I didn’t expect to go home with her, but I guess my charm is that irresistible. We just talked for a while at the party and before you know it, we went back to her apartment and had sex. Multiple times. Multiple, _glorious_  times.”

 

“That has got to be the most boring description of a drunken one-night stand that I’ve ever heard in my life,” says Octavia. “And my standards are pretty low right now because this hangover is honestly making me question my will to live.” “

 

Hey, save that kind of thinking for when Kane makes us run for the entire last hour of practice,” replies Raven. She rubs a hand over her eyes, groaning. “I’m not ready. I am so _far_  from ready for this bullshit.”

 

Clarke rolls her eyes again. “What kind of ‘details’ do you idiots want? Do you really want me to tell you how many fing—”

 

“You can stop right there, partner,” interjects Raven, clapping her hands over her ears. “I am in no way interested in hearing the rest of that sentence.”

 

“Honestly, I just want to know if she wears lingerie. She seems like the type to wear some expensive shit under everything.” Octavia nods to herself, approving her own theory.

 

“You’re getting creepier by the second. Does Lincoln know you think about Lexa when you guys are fucking?”

 

“No, but feel free to tell him.” Octavia shrugs nonchalantly. “Maybe I’ll get a threesome out of it if I’m lucky enough.”

 

“If you want, I can tell you everything Lexa likes so that you only disappoint one of them in bed, O.” Clarke cackles at her own joke as she maneuvers her car into a parking space. “And to answer your question, no, she wasn’t wearing any lingerie. Not that I really remember much about her underwear considering I was kind of busy at the moment.”

 

“I will have you know that Lincoln is more than satisfied with my skills, at least if I’m judging by how quickly he gets—”

 

“I swear to god I will fucking jump out of this moving vehicle if you two don’t stop trying to ruin my innocence with your _disgusting_ —”

 

“The car isn’t even moving anymore, dumbass, and you’re acting like we didn’t have definitely not-innocent sex last semester during finals.”

 

Raven pauses and then tilts her head, shrugging in easy defeat. “Yeah, you’re right.”

 

(Raven Reyes is certainly not one to deny the reality of any situation. Her motto is [and Clarke quotes], “If you acknowledge how trashy you can be, you take the power from it. Y’know? I don’t know, ’m kinda fucked up and that made way more sense in my head.”)

 

Briefly, Clarke looks between Raven and Octavia and makes a connection in her mind that she laughs aloud at. _Holy shit, Raven banged both the Blakes._ How this fact managed to escape her the minute she found out about Raven and Bellamy, Clarke doesn’t know—well, actually, it might have been due to the fact that she’d found out when she was still half-drunk at three in the morning. It’s as if Raven reads Clarke’s mind because she looks over at Clarke warningly, silently threatening her life with the best glare she can muster. Clarke simply grins smugly in response, revelling in yet another secret she can hold over Raven’s head when she needs a favor. She made a mental note to compile a list of things she could strong-arm Raven into doing before they decided to let Octavia in on their secret.

 

They step out of the car and make their way across the parking lot with varying groans and grumbling, not one of them prepared for the torture they were about to endure. Still, when Clarke takes her first step onto the pitch and the smell of freshly mowed grass hits her nostrils, she can’t help the smile that threatens to break her face in half. Training on her own during the summer in Boston was no comparison for the feeling of pouring every ounce of herself into her team and leaving it all on the field, even on days where she feels as miserable as this.

 

Octavia all but moans when she falls into place next to Clarke on the bench, closing her eyes when a light breeze hits them. “There’s nothing better than a fresh pitch. I think I’m wet.”

 

Raven barks out a laugh, the sound loud and carefree in Clarke’s ears, and that familiar feeling of belonging begins to warm her from the inside out. As she laces her boots, listening to Octavia and Raven bickering again and acknowledging the welcoming waves from the rest of their teammates, Clarke knows there is no place she would rather be.

 

* * *

 

Predictably, practice kicks her ass.

 

Clarke can’t think back to the last time she felt like each of her limbs might fall off at any given second, which is a pretty good indication of how the rest of the season is likely to go. Kane had given them a lengthy talk at the end of practice about all of the goals he wanted the team to achieve, on both competitive and personal fronts. It overwhelmed Clarke as much as it excited her, to be honest. Mostly, though, it motivated her and allowed her to push harder to improve her performance as practice progressed. However, she was definitely feeling its consequences as the soreness began to set in the more and more she moved to and from her classes.

 

(Her night with Lexa only added to the ache that spread across her muscles and she catches herself smiling when she realizes just _why_  her hips feel so sore, which is a Serious Concern. Nevertheless, in true Clarke-Griffin-post-Finn-Collins fashion, she pushes the thought to the back of her mind and refuses to touch it again.)

 

Having to walk to class on her aching, exhausted legs was a painful experience on its own, but she was now also sporting a rather nasty gash along the length of her calve courtesy of Octavia’s cleats and relentless defending. Their athletic trainer had bandaged the wound, but the hot sun still penetrated the gauze and set the raw skin on fire every time she had to step outside. If there was one good thing to be said about practice that morning, it was that all the endorphins from running helped get rid of her headache and sweating out any remaining alcohol in her system actually made her feel less sick to her stomach.

 

All in all, injuries aside, Clarke was actually having a pretty good first day back in class. She’d gotten to see some of her other friends—namely, Jasper, Miller, Monty, Bellamy, and Murphy—all over campus, which did wonders to improve her mood and day given how much she’d missed them over the summer (Bellamy, of course, was quick to fix her with a knowing smirk at her limp). What was even more exciting was discovering that she shared her English class with Monty, something they had somehow been completely unaware of until she had walked into the lecture hall and he nearly tackled her with the force of his hug.

 

Finally, Clarke only had one class left before she could go home and join Octavia and Raven in making dinner and likely sitting on a pile of ice packs together on the couch. She was not particularly excited for her Intro to Political Science class, but there were worse things in life (British Literature From Colonial Times to 1865 probably took the award home for that.) She was well aware that her sketchbook would be full of doodles by the end of the first semester rather than any sort of useful notes anyway, which was unfortunate. Though she had heard positive reviews about the professor for this particular class, she was still warned about the strenuousness of the coursework. Meaning, Clarke actually has to _pay attention_  in this class—a feat that seems closer to impossible.

 

She is so absorbed in her own thoughts about the impending semester that she does not notice the woman seated at the front of the auditorium, right next to the professor’s own desk. Appropriately, it’s the familiar scent of expensive, subtle perfume and heady aroma of flowers that triggers it. Clarke would have known even if she hadn’t looked up at that exact moment and locked gazes with those impenetrable green eyes. 

 

**Here is a prime example of how Clarke Griffin does not have her life together: for whatever godawful reason, she deems it the appropriate reaction to lift her hand in a pitiful wave in Lexa’s direction.**

  
_This is it_ , Clarke thinks as she feels her cheeks burning, _This is the moment where I deserve for the earth to swallow me whole. She’s probably looking at me and wondering how it is that she had sex with a fucking socially inept moron._

Now, there are two varying sides to Clarke’s current thought process. On one hand, she is very much Freaking Out about the fact that Lexa is in this room, and she is probably the TA (no, no— _she is_ , Clarke corrects herself,  _You have amazing detective skills, Clarke._ ) She has to wonder right then when whatever higher power there was would stop fucking so hard with her. This was just unfair on so, so many levels.

 

On the other hand, Clarke finds that there is a little prickle of excitement worming its way into her stomach at the sight of Lexa. She wants to pin the blame for feeling it on the needy physical attraction that resulted from the alcohol they’d consumed and the laidback, casual veil the party provided them with. She tries not to dwell so much on the intense, natural connection she had felt to Lexa in the bedroom and outside of it (What she can’t do is prevent the sharp pang of desire that hits low in her belly at the sight of the soft column of Lexa’s neck, flushed a pretty pink.)

 

Lexa is still fixing her with a stare, face as disbelieving as Clarke felt. It seems to wear off after she notices that Clarke is staring back and she nods in Clarke’s direction almost imperceptibly, eyes immediately dropping back down to the stack of papers on the desk in front of her. Anyone watching would simply assume they were strangers who had happened to make eye contact.

 

It strikes Clarke as such a _Lexa_  thing to do, even if she’s only known the other woman for less than a full day.

 

(Less than a full day and she already knows what Lexa’s hands feel like gripping at the sweaty skin of her back, nails digging in hard enough to leave a litter of half-moons marked on the curve of her spine.)

 

(So much for paying attention all semester.)

 

She’s fucked.

 

* * *

 

Clarke spends the rest of the class studiously avoiding looking over at Lexa, who returns the favor. It turns out to be a more challenging task than she would like to admit to herself.

 

Lexa, at least, has the advantage of actually being interested in what the professor was saying, which makes Clarke feel better about herself in some childish way, but hey—she’s willing to take whatever leverage she can get at this point. For a brief, terrifying moment, Clarke imagines Octavia and Raven’s reactions when she tells them. It is entirely likely that she may never recover her dignity from this entire ordeal.

 

Still, there are worse things in life than accidentally having sex with your really hot TA, she concludes. When she thinks about the position it puts Lexa in, though, Clarke feels a little guilty, but then _those_ thoughts quickly give way to putting Lexa in other positions before she can stop it.

 

( _How the fuck am I supposed to pass this class?_ )

 

It isn’t until students all around her begin vacating their seats that Clarke notices the lecture has finally come to an end. She gathers her belongings as quickly as possible, careful to keep Lexa in her sights. She can tell Lexa is trying to leave the auditorium undetected, which Clarke would normally reciprocate—but, well, it’s going to be a long fucking semester if she spends it trying to avoid her TA every class period, so she is determined to make this as Not Awkward as possible.

 

Before Clarke can lose the nerve, she shuffles to the front and calls out, “Lexa!”

 

Lexa freezes, turning to look towards Clarke and then to their surroundings. There are few students left by now, none of which are within earshot of them, and Clarke smiles a little at how Lexa looks like a trapped deer. There’s the tiniest tug of affection inside of her at Lexa’s seriousness because really, who would’ve thought that someone who looked like _Lexa_ was afraid to approach a pretty girl (one they’ve already seen naked, nonetheless)?

 

“Hey,” says Clarke once they’re directly in front of each other. Lexa looks tired, but Clarke is beginning to think she also always looks composed no matter what the circumstance. She runs a hand through her own hair self-consciously, hoping the smooth some of the waves back into place.

 

“Hello, Clarke,” Lexa replies stiffly, swallowing hard when their eyes meet.

 

Clarke chuckles nervously, the sound forced and unnatural even to her own ears. “Sooo….what are the odds, right?” Lexa doesn’t really look amused, so Clarke tries again. Lowering her voice, she continues, “Look, it doesn’t have to be awkward. We didn’t know and it’s not going to happen again. We can be adults about this, right?”

 

Lexa regards her with an unreadable look on her face for a long moment before nodding once, slowly. “I agree. I’m glad we could arrive to a reasonable conclusion.”

 

Clarke stares at her and then laughs, clear and ringing in the auditorium. Lexa looks confused, so she clarifies, “That doesn’t mean you have to go back to being so serious, Lexa.” Seeing the soft flush of Lexa’s cheeks, Clarke feels her mischievous streak flare (She was, unsurprisingly, a firm believer in having fun with awkward situations.) “I mean, you’ve already seen me naked.”

 

Lexa makes a slightly choked noise at the back of her throat, but regains her composure fairly quickly. “So far, I’m gathering that you and I have different versions of what being ‘adults’ about something means, Clarke.”

 

Clarke laughs again, shaking her head and sobering herself up. “Okay, okay, fair enough. I promise I’ll behave. Truce?”

 

She sticks her hand out, watching as Lexa accepts the handshake with an eyeroll and the slightest hint of a smile.

 

Friends—or something along those lines.

 

Clarke thinks that maybe she can do this thing just fine.

 

* * *

 

Raven and Octavia are still laughing.

 

(It’s been five minutes.)

 

Clarke sighs again, leaning back against the couch and readjusting the ice pack on her knee. She bites at her fingernails, looking as idle as possible until her asshole roommates finally find it within their puny hearts to stop laughing at her. She knew from the start that this was what awaited her once she finally told her roommates about her newfound…circumstances with Lexa.

 

“You know, it’s really not that funny,” Clarke finally says, her tone clipped. She’s glaring daggers at both of the girls at the opposite end of the couch.

 

Raven pauses to regain her breath. “It’s fucking hilarious, Clarke. This kind of shit only happens to you.”

 

“Yeah, you need to stop lying to yourself. This is the best thing that’s happened to me in years!” Octavia is bent over at the waist, slapping her knee in what Clarke thinks is an entirely unnecessary show of just how funny she thinks Clarke’s misfortune is.

 

“Well, if I didn’t already think your life was sad before, you’ve put it into a new perspective for me,” Clarke bites back, huffing and crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s not that big of a deal! We talked for a little bit after class and agreed we can be normal and friendly with each other. It’s _fine_. We’re acquaintances.”

 

“‘Acquaintances?’” Raven howls again, meeting Octavia’s hand mid-air when they reach for each other in twisted solidarity. “You’ve been _in_ —”

 

Clarke interrupts loudly then, “And that’s it for this episode of Unwanted Opinions on Clarke’s Sex Life! Thanks for tuning in, kids, you can fuck off now.”

 

“So, when are you going in for ‘tutoring?’” Octavia arches her brows, face still split into a grin. She drops Raven’s hand and places her own over (what she thinks is) her heart. “This seriously sounds like a shitty romantic comedy. You’re the nerdy girl with no friends and Lexa is the heartthrob who inspires you to get a makeover and stop being such a fucking loser.”

 

“Your heart is on the left side, genius,” snorts Clarke. She grabs the remote and turns on the TV, flipping through the channels for a bit before opening up Netflix and playing a random episode of _Orange is the New Black_. “And why do I have to be the nerdy one? Last I checked, Lexa’s a _political science_ TA and I’m on the soccer team. Your logic doesn’t even make sense.”

 

“Yeah, whatever,” Octavia waves her off. “I’m so fucking excited to tell Lincoln about this. He’s going to piss himself.”

 

Clarke almost protests, but knows it would be fruitless to do so. Instead, she sighs in resignation and says, “Just make sure he doesn’t say anything to Lexa about it. I’m not trying to make her hate me. I actually might need her help this semester.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure you will, you pervert.” Raven ducks when Clarke lodges a pillow at her face, wincing at the loud clang of the chair behind her tipping over from the force of the throw. “Are you trying to get arrested for domestic violence? I won’t hesitate to have you hauled off to prison.”

 

Octavia scoffs. “Like that would be a punishment. She would just find her own Alex Vause and live out all of her prison wife fantasies.”

 

“You guys are annoying.” Clarke turns the volume of the TV up, attempting to somewhat drown out their voices. “I’m just going to stop talking altogether unless we change the subject.”

 

“You say that like it’s a punishment,” says Raven, reaching for the bowl of popcorn Octavia had set down on the coffee table minutes prior to Clarke’s confession. She stuffs a handful into her mouth, still grinning around it. “But fine, we’ll drop it. _For now_. You’d better believe I expect to hear about any and all awkward interactions between you two.”

 

“It’s not going to be awkward,” insists Clarke, attempting to convince herself just as much as she was trying to convince Raven.

 

Octavia gave her _A Look_ and Raven simply shook her head, tossing a few kernels at Clarke’s head. “Whatever you say, buddy.”

 

Regardless, both of her friends drop the subject and continue chatting about their respective days, falling back into the easy rhythm of giving each other grief and exchanging information about classes. Clarke is mostly grateful for the fact that the slightly mortifying beginning to her semester was nothing but a hiccup now that the two important conversations had happened. She thinks back to her short exchange with Lexa, relieved all over again at the relative ease with which they had settled everything.

 

Clarke doubts that Lexa would want anything past a casual friendship with her ( _especially_  now that anything more is against the rules to begin with), but the prospect of being in each other’s presence fairly frequently is kind of exciting. It certainly gives her way more to work with than she ever thought she would have given the “one-time” agreement they’d worked out. That’s not to say she even thinks Lexa will make it easy in any way at all, but Clarke still feels the inexplicable tug to get to know her better in spite of that. Perhaps it’s the noticeable way Lexa keeps a part of herself carefully closed off, how she hides when she thinks Clarke is looking too closely, and how much more that makes Clarke want to dig herself underneath all those layers.

 

(Or maybe it’s just the awesome sex still clouding her mind.)

 

( _Quit thinking with your boner_.)

 

No, it definitely isn’t just the sex, though that had certainly been a welcome addition. At any given moment, Clarke finds herself thinking about Lexa rambling on about the specifics of her degree just as often as she thinks of the warm curve of Lexa’s shoulder beneath her mouth. Truth be told, there are few things that interest Clarke about comparative politics and international relations, but something about Lexa makes her want to pay attention and drink in all the subtle excitement she exudes—her eyes, bright and shiny with alcohol, but wide with the urge to share her knowledge, and her tongue stumbling to keep up with everything she wants to explain.

 

“I can hear you thinking and it’s kind of freaking me out because I didn’t really think that that’s a thing you actually do.”

 

Octavia’s voice cuts through her thoughts and Clarke shakes herself back into the present.

 

“Sorry, I was asking myself if being friends with you is worth my happiness and dignity.”

 

Raven whistles and feigns soothing a sudden pang in her chest. “That was fucking _savage_ , Clarke, even for you.”

 

“It was a good one, wasn’t it?”

 

“Yeah, you really didn’t hold back on that one,” Octavia agrees, shrugging. “Anyway, stop thinking and enjoy our fucking company. I didn’t sign up for friends with real emotions.”

 

Clarke nudges her with a shoulder and glares, but nods. “That’s probably the best advice you’ve given me all day, actually.”

 

After that, Clarke makes sure keep her mind reeled in and focused on her friends, giving herself a much-needed pause on all thoughts related to Lexa—

 

and her mouth,

 

and her hands,

 

and her waist,

 

and her—

 

_Goddamn it, get your head in the game, Griffin. And stop watching High School Musical with Raven and Octavia, for fuck’s sake._

 

* * *

 

If anyone were to ask, Lexa Wilde is not typically in the practice of sleeping with the undergrad students in her classes.

 

However, despite her inexperience regarding this particular situation, it quickly becomes obvious that she lucked out with making that mistake with someone like Clarke. What could have turned into a cripplingly awkward situation had been reduced to nothing but a bump in the road with a painless, 5-minute conversation during which Clarke had managed to get Lexa to feel relaxed and comfortable around her again, this time _without_  the help of alcohol—worryingly enough. Clarke was just as disarming in the middle of a classroom as she was at a crowded party, something that Lexa quickly notices keeps her on her toes more than she’s willing to admit. Regardless of how intense the brief connection they’d had was, though, Lexa had immediately vowed to quash it in light of their predicament.

 

It was fairly easy to avoid one-on-one time with Clarke if Lexa really wanted to, given that she stayed busy during every lecture and oftentimes up to two hours afterward with helping students understand the day’s lesson. Still, Clarke somehow managed to get in a few minutes of conversation with Lexa almost every other class, further solidifying the tenuous beginnings of a friendship. It’s not really that Lexa _minds_ talking to Clarke—actually, it’s quite the opposite; there’s a twinge of _something_ every time she sees Clarke lingering near her desk at the end of a class period. Some might call it excitement, but Lexa isn’t wont to place such a strong feeling on the simple prospect of hearing another one of Clarke’s stupid puns or learning about an amusing moment during soccer practice.

 

(She also isn’t inclined to acknowledge or admit that she genuinely likes talking to Clarke—even looks forward to those fleeting interactions after particularly long days.)

 

Predictably, the first few weeks of the semester fly by in a steady haze of lectures and grading papers—Lexa barely had enough time to think about what she was going to have for dinner most days, let alone allow herself to be distracted by the cute blonde in class, who she really shouldn't be thinking of at all.

 

Unfortunately, more often than not, Lexa’s brain seemed to ignore her every intention _not_ to think of Clarke, and she found her gaze wandering over to Clarke’s seat on more than one occasion. If Lexa happened to noticed the endearing way Clarke’s nose would wrinkle in confusion, or her penchant for tugging on her bottom lip with her teeth during bouts of deep concentration, well—she would just chalk it up to simple observations. (Lexa’s own consciousness was, of course, quick to remind her that she hadn’t _observed_  any of her other students that way.)

 

But it was just sex—it was just attraction, and Lexa was an adult enough to be able to lay it all to rest in favor of respecting that Clarke was a student in her class and the fact that they were steadily crossing the boundary into a harmless friendship.

 

(Okay, so it was definitely still impossible _not_  to notice the smooth expanse of Clarke’s thighs whenever she slid into her seat, but Lexa at least had the decency to immediately look away and mentally scold herself. She felt like some weird repressive Freudian stereotype every time, but if that’s what it took…)

 

Just as Lexa sets down the enormous stack of papers on her desk with the intention of pushing all thoughts of Clarke Griffin out, her eyes flash toward the name at the top of the first essay.

 

_Of fucking course._

 

She heaves out a sigh, unsurprised at her luck, and picks up the mug of coffee resting by her laptop, taking a deep gulp despite the scalding temperature. Right as her brain is processing the fact that freshly brewed coffee had somehow magically appeared inside of her apartment and poured itself for her without her help, Lexa looks up to see Anya standing by her kitchen counter.

 

“I was beginning to doubt you’d even notice a stranger’s presence inside your home.” Anya arches an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. “How many hours do you sleep, on average?”

 

“Four, probably.” Lexa sighs again and takes a seat at the dinner table, gesturing for Anya to join her. “What are you even doing here? Is this part of your M.O.? Making someone a cup of coffee while you break into their home to kill them?”

 

“You know you gave me your spare key, jackass.” Anya takes Lexa up on the offer, sitting across from her and tapping her fingertips on the table. “I’m glad to see you’re alive and that I was right in assuming you would need the caffeine. Do you want to know _why_  I knew that?” She pauses for effect while Lexa stares blankly in return. “Because you’re my best friend, so I thought I would kindly remind you since you’ve fallen off the face of the earth.”

 

Lexa groans and drops her head onto her hands, rubbing at her eyes until she sees starbursts. “I know, I’ve been more awful than usual at hanging out with everyone. I’ve just been so busy—”

 

“With what? Sleeping with your students?”

 

Lexa shoots Anya a glare and takes another sip of her coffee, thinking about all the ways one could inflict torture on another human with the use of boiling liquid. “Where’s your loyalty, Judas? You said you weren’t going to use that against me.”

 

Anya laughs and leans back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. “That was my way of asking you how it’s going with your crush. You haven’t said anything about the fetus since the first day of class.”

 

“Okay, first of all, she’s only two years younger than me so stop making me feel gross and _second of all_ , I told you that it was a one-time thing. Did you conveniently forget it’s also against the rules now?” Lexa glares again, huffing indignantly.

 

“Fair enough. I like that you didn’t deny the crush part, though.”

 

“Whatever, _shut up_.” Lexa feels her traitorous face burning at the statement and so she deflects, “Did you come here just to antagonize me? Because in case you haven’t noticed, I have to grade a pile of papers the size of your head before the end of the weekend and the sooner I begin, the less I’ll feel like murdering you or Lincoln later on.”

 

To punctuate her statement, Lexa grabs the first half of the stack from her desk and lets them fall onto the dinner table with a dull thud. She follows Anya’s gaze to where it rests on the very top paper and mentally kicks herself for unwittingly setting herself up for the comments she’s sure are going to follow. Before Lexa can stop her, Anya grabs Clarke’s paper from the stack, quickly glancing her eyes over the first page.

 

Her brows steadily rise as she reads the first few paragraphs, nodding along in agreement with what she finds. “Wow, so I guess your little Alex Morgan actually has something going on up there. Even if you like ’em young, she at least _sounds_  smart.”

 

(High praise, really, coming from _Anya_ , of all people.)

 

 _She's cuter than Alex Morgan_ , Lexa thinks absently before coming to her senses and snatching the paper away from Anya to set it back down. “Are you actively trying to get me fired? And _again_ —did you come here just to harass me? You’re making me wish I had never given you that spare considering I didn’t know I would also be sacrificing my peace and quiet in the process.”

 

Anya rolls her eyes, but mercifully drops the subject of Clarke (Lexa isn’t sure how she would even begin to approach talking about the whole topic of her sort-of friendship with Clarke, anyway— she wants to keep their brief, shared interactions to herself a little bit longer.)

 

“I stopped by to invite you to Lincoln’s this weekend—and by ‘invite you,’ I mean I was sent to force you into going, like always.”

 

“It’s almost like we didn’t just talk about the stupid things I get myself into whenever I attend Lincoln’s parties.”

 

“It’s just a small get-together and no one’s telling you to go all Meredith Grey with the tequila again, Lexa.” Anya drums her fingertips against the table and steals a drink from Lexa’s coffee. “Just show up for a few hours and try to remember how to behave like a functioning human being.”

 

Lexa weighs the pros and cons of going to Lincoln’s, even though she knows the only pro is that she would get to see her friends and the only major con was having to set aside all the work she can already tell she’ll have piled up by the weekend. Given Anya’s aggressive approach, though, she doesn’t feel like there’s really a choice to be made either way.

 

“Fine,” Lexa relents, figuring that she might as well agree to it now and avoid any additional harassment. “But I’m only staying for two hours and I’m _not_ drinking this time.”

 

“Suit yourself,” Anya shrugs, “But I personally liked _Lexa Gone Wild_ : ‘Soccer Sluts’ edition.”

 

“As a a feminist, I resent that. Also, you have approximately one minute to get out of my apartment before I take back every good thing I’ve ever said about you and then rescind our friendship entirely.”

 

Anya laughs and stands from her seat, already making her way over to the door, and calls out, “Yeah, whatever, I’ll see your sorry, sleep-deprived ass on Saturday. Don’t even think about trying to get out of it either. I’ll make everyone come over here instead if you do!”

 

Lexa waves her off with a flick of her hand and then refocuses her attention on the task she had steeled herself to attempt before Anya’s interruption. Clarke’s paper sits on the table, waiting for Lexa to take a pen and highlighter to it, silently mocking. She picks it up, scanning over it briefly, and is impressed with what she finds. Anya may have been making fun of Lexa, but she wasn’t lying about Clarke’s paper—she can already tell that it’s going to be a solid work all-around, judging simply by the premise and set-up of the first paragraph. Lexa is far past the point of thinking that Clarke lacks intelligence in any way, but there haven’t been any other major assignments for her to judge Clarke's comprehension of the course at length.

 

Clarke’s writing is succinct and direct, demonstrating a good working knowledge of all the topics Indra had covered so far. Lexa thinks back to one of their conversations a few days ago, when Clarke had actually approached her with legitimate questions about the essay.

 

 

_“So, I guess this is the part where you do your job and help me with schoolwork,” Clarke had said, casually sidling up to Lexa’s desk as if she hadn’t already seen her approaching behind the steady throng of students._

_Lexa arched an eyebrow and drily replied, “I’ve been known to do that on occasion, if asked politely. Note that ‘politely’ is the operative word here.”_

_Clarke rolled her eyes good-naturedly, setting her soccer bag down next to Lexa’s desk. “I don’t need to be polite about anything, actually. My good looks help me get by without needing real manners.”_

_Lexa opened her mouth to deliver an equal retort, but all the words died in her mouth when Clarke leaned forward to rest her elbows on the desk, immediately drawing Lexa’s attention to the low cut of her tank top. Lexa was acutely aware of her mouth still hanging open, but her focus had yet to shift away from the swell of Clarke’s chest—something Clarke was well aware of, if the way she smirked at Lexa was any indication._

_“Case in point.”_

_Lexa cleared her throat then, in time with the loud laugh Clarke let out at having caught her in the very undignified act of ogling._ _“Can we get back to your questions now, smartass?”_

 

Lexa shakes her head at the memory, smiling despite herself—after all, there are surely worse things in life than being flirted with by Clarke Griffin, university rules be damned.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the week flies by in the same pattern for Lexa—school, school _work_ , and the occasional good night’s sleep. Anya had ambushed her in her apartment on Tuesday, but it felt like all Lexa did was blink and suddenly it was Saturday night, the night she was due over at Lincoln’s apartment with the rest of their friends. Even if she had managed to forget about Lincoln’s get-together in the flurry of everyday life, Anya made damn sure Lexa had a reminder on every social media available (Lexa only had the patience for it because she knew it was Anya’s way of making sure she didn’t drive herself crazy with work.)

 

She’s an hour late by the time she’s walking over to Lincoln’s, but it was the earliest she was able to tear herself away from the stack of essays that she was still working through. Her friends wouldn’t mind, though—she was already preparing herself for the onslaught of tipsy affection that was likely headed her way once she walked in.

 

Like clockwork, Lexa barely has time to step through the threshold before Lincoln is bounding over to her and wrapping her up in a bear hug that picks her feet up off the floor.

 

“Put me down before I rethink my decision to be here,” Lexa manages to wheeze out, powerless against the grip he has around her.

 

“Shut up, you love feeling my body all over yours.” Lincoln gives her an extra hard squeeze to spite her and then finally sets her down. “I didn’t actually believe Anya when she told me she convinced you to be here.”

 

“She didn’t convince me so much as she threatened me,” clarifies Lexa, straightening out her button down after Lincoln’s assault. “Believe me, all the work I still have to do makes me wish I could drown myself in a pool of my own tears instead.”

 

She lets her eyes drift around the room, taking in the familiar faces of all their friends and two or three she doesn’t recognize. There aren’t very many people there—probably about 20 or so—and Lexa is grateful for the casual atmosphere, which is a far cry from the last time she was there. Tonight, everyone seems content with milling around absently, enjoying each other’s company and the copious amounts of beer provided.

 

Lincoln looks like he’s about to agree with Anya being terrifying (because he and Lexa have bonded over it several times before), but his eyes light up like he’s just made a sudden realization. “Hey, come say hi to Octavia, since you just disappeared without saying bye last time. She’s out back with Anya, I think.”

 

Lexa pointedly ignores the first half of his statement and then follows his lead, only briefly greeting Echo, Ryder, and a handful of other friends as they weave their way through the house. When they make it to the back patio, Lexa sees Anya talking to a pretty brunette who looks vaguely familiar, though she can’t figure out where she might have seen her, try as she might.

 

“Where’s Octavia?” Lexa hears Lincoln ask as he approaches the two. “Oh, hey, Raven. Glad you could make it.”

 

Anya and the brunette—Raven, Lexa assumes—both turn to face them, but it’s Anya who speaks first. “Well, if it isn’t Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum.”

 

Lexa rolls her eyes and scoffs. “Is this why you wanted me here? To have a readily available punchline?”

 

“Play nice, kids, we have a guest,” says Lincoln, gesturing toward Raven. “Raven, this is Lexa. Lexa, Raven.”

 

“Sorry about my friends,” Lexa says by way of greeting Raven.

 

Raven fixes Lexa with a knowing smirk and a streak of mischief in her dark eyes. “At least yours are literate. Wait until you meet mine.”

 

Before Lexa can dwell too much on the strange vibe she’s getting from Raven, like she _knows_ something about Lexa that she isn’t supposed to know, a voice from behind her quiets everything else.

 

“Lexa?”

 

She knows it’s Clarke even before she looks around to confirm it, and it takes every ounce of willpower she has not to outwardly seethe in Anya’s direction.

 

“Clarke, hey,” says Lexa instead, attempting to recover some of her dignity. “I didn’t know I would be seeing you here.”

 

Raven snorts loudly and Anya hides a smirk by pretending to cough when Lexa catches her and glares daggers. Lincoln, meanwhile, is looking between Clarke and Lexa like there are gears _slowly_  turning in his head.

 

“Neither did I,” Clarke says, smiling in the same easy way that almost always causes a disgusting rush in Lexa’s stomach. “I gotta say it’s a little weird seeing you out of class, though.” She makes her way to Raven’s side, as if she knew she had to keep a close watch.

 

“Oh, you’ve seen her out of more than that—” Raven quickly interjects, only to be silenced by a hard shove from Clarke’s shoulder.

 

Lexa, meanwhile, 100% wants to set herself on fire and erase any remnants of her presence on Earth, ever. Anya is still trying to contain her laughter and Lincoln stands awkwardly to the side, hands shoved into his pockets.

 

“So...has anyone seen Octavia?” Lincoln tries again, attempting to diffuse the awkwardness.

 

Raven bursts into laughter and even if Lexa is still considering the merits of slowly backing away from the entire situation, she has to admit that it eases the tension a little. That is, until Raven opens her mouth to speak.

 

“Oh, come on! You idiots have seen each other’s ‘O’ face—there’s no fucking point in being shy now.”

 

Lexa is certain that if eyes could kill, Raven would be in a puddle on the floor and Clarke would be jailed for homicide. Anya, _damn her_ , looks absolutely delighted—Lincoln is the picture of an uncomfortable older brother hearing about his sister’s sex life from one of his teammates in the locker room.

 

“Hey! What are all my favorites doing standing around without beer in their hands?”

 

Octavia’s voice rings loud and clear, like a chorus of unwitting, naive little angels treading through a hellish field where awkwardness goes to thrive, unaware of all the burning and chaos and despair around them. Lexa can’t remember the last time she felt so happy to see someone in her life, if only for the distraction she provided from the glaring subject of her and Clarke.

 

“Uh, actually—Lexa and I are gonna head inside to talk for a little about an assignment. Be right back, don’t be assholes while we’re gone!”

 

Lexa turns to give Clarke a questioning look, but before anyone can get a word in edgewise, Clarke slips a warm hand into her own, tugging her back to the entrance of the house. Lexa let’s herself be led away if only to escape the conversation entirely, but it also means that Clarke’s hand is still fastened over hers, and that’s not exactly doing anything to keep her blushing at bay, either.

 

Clarke leads them up until they get to the kitchen and then stops so abruptly that Lexa runs into her. She laughs and turns her head back just enough so that their eyes meet and says, “Sorry, sorry! I just realized I have no fucking clue where would even be a good place to talk here.”

 

Lexa surprises the both of them by letting out another soft laugh in return, but she’s suddenly too aware of their closeness, of the smell of Clarke’s shampoo and the slight upward turn of her mouth. Something in her brain seems to short circuit and all she can do is stare for a moment, _wanting_ —and kicking herself for it. But then she gathers herself and takes a step back, nods her head in the direction of what she knows is the guest room, and let’s go of Clarke’s hand in the process. _There_ , Lexa thinks, _easier to concentrate._  

 

She starts walking toward the room, leaving Clarke to follow silently behind her. As soon as they step into the room, Clarke locks the door and groans loudly, making her way over to the bed and falling face-first onto the mattress. Her voice sounds muffled when she speaks, but Lexa can make it out all the same.

 

“I am so fucking sorry that my friends are inbred. Holy shit, that was embarrassing—I promise they don’t actually go around talking about this. They know the situation and they aren’t going to make it a thing.”

 

Lexa’s first instinct is to be upset only because she’s so fucking _mortified_ , but the feeling quickly passes at Clarke’s apology, and she knows she’s not alone in her embarrassment, at least. She pushes back the self-conscious voice in her mind that tells her to keep her distance and sits down on the mattress next to Clarke’s prone body, unable to help the laughter that bubbles forth at Clarke’s dramatics. She can see the beginnings of a smile at the corner of Clarke’s mouth and feels strangely satisfied.

 

“Apology accepted. Anya’s hobby is making my life a living hell and ensuring that I never live a day without being cripplingly embarrassed so I understand,” Lexa replies drily.

 

Clarke turns her head to the side and peeks up at Lexa. “We probably shouldn’t have left her and Raven in the same room.”

 

“No, probably not.”

 

They’re both quiet for a moment and Clarke adjusts her position on the bed, moving so that she’s laying sideways, facing Lexa. It happens again then—Lexa becomes too aware of Clarke’s presence, of the dips and curves of her body on the mattress. Clarke is wearing cut-offs, naturally, and her thin shirt is loose enough that it leaves the smooth planes of her collarbones and shoulders exposed, and Lexa feels her fingertips straining to touch. She’s not uncomfortable, but she realizes in hindsight that being alone with Clarke is very much different than being in a classroom with her.

 

(That is to say: Lexa can barely suppress the overwhelming wave of desire she’s always washed in when Clarke is near and they’re surrounded by plenty of distractions. It’s out of the question to even _try_ when they’re alone together.)

 

Lexa catches Clarke’s eye, immediately notices the familiar shade of dark blue and the heavy-lidded stare, and everything shifts in an instant. They haven’t directly acknowledged their attraction, verbally or otherwise, since the night at Lincoln’s party, but Lexa can feel it prickling in the air between them now. Her mouth feels too dry, and she feels too exposed by the blush that crawls up her neck and Clarke’s watchful, intense gaze.

 

“I should go,” says Lexa quietly, attempting to break the moment. She makes no move to leave though, too focused on flash of Clarke’s hipbone that’s revealed by her laying back and stretching languidly on the bed.

 

“If that’s what you want,” Clarke finally replies, settling back down onto the pillows and shooting a deceptively nonchalant look at Lexa. “I’ll just be here, on this bed. _Alone_.”

 

“Do you always try to seduce your friends?” Lexa is trying to sound sarcastic and above whatever move Clarke is trying to pull, but she knows she’s so desperately _not_.

 

As much as she tries to play off her attraction to Clarke—has tried to for weeks now—she knows it’s always there, bubbling beneath a carefully contained surface. And _Clarke_ , the smug, flirtatious fuck, knows it.

 

Clarke pouts thoughtfully and then laughs, the rasp of it sending a flash of heat roiling through Lexa. “Do I really have to try?”

 

Logically, Lexa knows she shouldn’t. _Can't._  (Not in life, but also decidedly not in Lincoln’s guest room in the middle of a fairly small party, either.)

 

Logically, Lexa understands that rules are put in place for a reason.

 

Logically, Lexa understands that those rules might very well save her a messy, complicated situation—and Lexa Wilde does not _do_  mess or complications.

 

But the challenge in Clarke’s voice rears this hunger inside of her, awakens the side of her that recognizes that she doesn’t want to say no.

 

So, she doesn’t.

 

* * *

 

Clarke is only caught off-guard for a split second before she reacts to kiss Lexa back, folding their mouths more firmly together before leaning back only just enough to brush her tongue along the pouty curve of Lexa’s bottom lip. One minute, Clarke was teasing Lexa, more for the amusement than anything else, and then Lexa was _kissing_  her, twisting her upper body to hover over Clarke’s on the bed.

 

Clarke wasn’t stupid, she _knew_ the attraction was there for the both of them—it’s what got them into bed in the first place—but she didn’t expect Lexa to rise to her challenge after weeks of mostly friendly interactions centered around class. Raven’s outbursts certainly couldn’t have done her any favors, either.

 

Nonetheless, she doesn’t stop long enough to question it; instead, she moves her hands to either side of Lexa’s neck, focusing hard to keeping her hands from shaking against the warm skin there. Lexa pulls back from the kiss suddenly, but before Clarke can ask if everything is okay, Lexa begins to maneuver herself to rest her body over Clarke’s. Lexa looks up to meet Clarke’s gaze for a second and the look in her eyes sends a flush throughout Clarke’s whole body, crawling into every space.

 

She drags Lexa back in for another searing kiss, this one open-mouthed and torrid, enough heat building between the two of them for the temperature in the room to jump several degrees. She let’s her hands wander down to the first few buttons on Lexa’s shirt, her hands making quick work of them before she nudges her mouth to kiss along every inch of exposed throat.

 

Lexa’s breathing is harsh in Clarke’s ear, each hot gust of breath sending a shiver down her spine. She reaches for the waistband of Lexa’s pants, but a hand over hers stops her. Clarke looks up questioningly at Lexa only to be met with a kiss-swollen smirk as Lexa scoots backward on the bed, resting her hands on Clarke’s thighs and spreading them apart.

 

“Can I?”

 

Clarke can’t nod her head fast enough, her heart pounding inside her ribcage as she watches Lexa unbutton and remove her cut-offs. She feels a flutter at the familiarity of it all and knows she’s not alone in it because Lexa looks up at her then and smiles, suddenly shy. Clarke’s chest tightens with affection and she returns the smile, reaching down to lace her fingers through Lexa’s. They stay that way for a moment, simply watching each other, before Lexa leans back down and brings their joined hands up above their heads, effectively pinning one of Clarke’s hands down on the mattress. Lexa settles herself in between Clarke’s legs, her free hand deliberately gripping at one of the bare thighs now wrapped around her.

 

Lexa let’s her mouth ghost over Clarke’s for a moment before kissing her fully again, starting a slow grind with her hips that has Clarke gasping into the air between them whenever one of them draws back for air. After a few moments of desperate, messy movement, Lexa lets her hand slide from Clarke’s thigh up to her hipbone, cupping her hand over the sharp bone possessively before stroking her fingertips along the waistband of Clarke’s underwear.

 

“Ready?”

 

“ _Yes_ , fuck.”

 

“I’m _trying_.”

 

Clarke would laugh if Lexa didn’t choose that exact moment to finally, _finally_ , slip her hand lower, bringing everything inside of Clarke to a fever pitch. Clarke let’s herself fall back onto the pillow behind her, her head heavy and thick with desire, and groans low in her throat when Lexa pushes harder.

 

“Shh,” says Lexa gently, mindful of the people still present just down the hallway. She follows Clarke to press a kiss to the corner of her lips, keeping their mouths close but not touching, only sharing the same desperate breaths.

 

The next time Lexa pushes back in, Clarke meets her with a perfectly timed roll of her hips and feels the pressure all over—it’s almost too much to take and she drags her nails down the side of Lexa’s throat all the way to her sternum, digging in. Lexa hisses sharply, but increases her pace, giving Clarke only breathless seconds to recover. She releases Clarke’s hand from her hold to brace herself up instead, giving no indicator that she was going to slow down anytime soon.

 

Not that Clarke wants or needs that—she can already feel the sensation building low in her stomach, her hips aching in that telltale way. She crushes her mouth to Lexa’s, holding her in place for as long as she can before the need to breathe takes over again and forces them apart, Clarke’s breath coming in staccato bursts between them. Lexa has to know that Clarke is close because she hooks her fingers just inside, hitting a spot that makes Clarke’s stomach go bottomless. That’s all it takes, Lexa’s relentless rhythm and that final stroke, and Clarke is shuddering beneath her, biting down hard on the curve where her neck meets her shoulder.

 

“Ow, fuck!” Lexa winces at the contact before collapsing bonelessly, half on top of Clarke.

 

Clarke laughs, breathless and loud, and then brings her arm up to circle around Lexa’s shoulder. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

 

Lexa hums contently, letting her head drop down onto Clarke’s clavicle, too exhausted for a proper response. They lie there for long minutes, catching their breath and allowing their brains to buzz pleasantly with everything that just happened. Clarke can barely form a coherent sentence in her mind, let alone overthink everything the way she knows Lexa probably is. It isn’t much longer when Lexa moves to sit up, silencing Clarke’s small whine of protest with a kiss. When Lexa leans back, Clarke instantly commits the sight of her like this to memory—from her wild, loose curls and the glossy softness of her gaze to her messy button down, wrinkled and wayward on her thin frame. She blushes beneath Clarke’s stare and moves to slide the discarded cut-offs back up Clarke’s legs, dragging her palms slowly along the smooth skin. Clarke picks herself up off the bed a little to help along the process, leaning back to allow Lexa to fasten the button. She watches as Lexa leans forward and drops a small kiss on her abdomen, just above her waistband. Everything about it is tender, and Clarke feels it like molten honey beneath her tongue.

 

_God, this girl._

 

Clarke reaches forward, catching Lexa’s shirt where it opens halfway down her chest, and begins to button it back up, smoothing over the collar and shoulders. When she’s done, she presses a kiss Lexa’s cheek, lingering.

 

“So...that happened again,” Clarke finally says, clearing her throat to rid it of as much raspiness as she can.

 

Lexa nods, groaning as she slaps a palm over her face. “Yes, it did, and I’m counting down the days until I get fired now.”

 

Clarke chuckles at that, nudging Lexa’s thigh with her toe. “It never happened if we don’t tell anyone.”

 

Lexa peeks out at Clarke from between her fingers, smiling a little. “I’m awful at lying, just so you know.”

 

“I don’t doubt that, but hey—all we have to do is keep it between us,” Clarke reassures. “Just as long as you don’t go giving me A’s because of my awesome boobs.”

 

“But your boobs _are_  A-worthy,” says Lexa thoughtfully, smirking. Then, more seriously, “Really, Clarke, I can’t have any of the administration find out about this.”

 

Clarke nods quickly, wholly understanding. “Of course, yeah, I know. What about our friends?”

 

Lexa rolls her eyes at that, shaking her head. “They’re going to be awful about it either way, aren’t they?”

 

“Yup.”

 

“Then I guess there’s nothing we can do.”

 

Clarke is moving to kiss Lexa before she realizes they haven’t actually talked about their particular arrangement now that the ‘one time’ rule had definitely been broken. She stops short, considering the thought. “So, am I allowed to try that again with you sometime?”

 

Lexa arches an eyebrow, regarding Clarke for a moment. “If we do this thing regularly, you should know that I have no time or desire for a relationship.” Clarke feels an unexpected twinge of hurt at that and Lexa must catch it flitting across her features because she continues, “I mean that in general, Clarke. I haven’t seriously dated in a long time and I can’t start right now, not with everything else I have going on.”

 

It does soothe Clarke’s ego a little and she shrugs. “I haven’t been looking for a relationship since my last shitty one so you don’t have to worry about that with me, Lex. And look, I get the whole TA thing and whatnot, but let’s face it: we can’t keep our fucking hands off each other. What’s the difference between it happening twice and, you know, on a _regular_  basis?”

 

Lexa laughs at that and shoots Clarke a dubious look. “I’m not so sure about that logic, but I don’t think I would be opposed to the regular basis thing.”

 

“Oh, I’m glad you wouldn’t be _opposed_ , Your Majesty,” Clarke replies sarcastically even as she slants her mouth against Lexa’s.

 

The kiss is soft, easy, more of a gentle exploration of each other’s mouths than anything meant to arouse. It’s a pleasant change of pace from the frenzied movements of just minutes ago, which Clarke still feels herself slowly recovering from. They break away some long moments later, Lexa standing and dropping a kiss onto Clarke’s forehead.

 

“We really should get back out there, though, as much as I _don't_ want to deal with our obnoxious friends.”

 

Clarke groans in agreement, attempting to stand up only to pitch forward onto Lexa, who steadies her with a firm arm around her waist.

 

Lexa looks far too smug for Clarke’s liking when she says, “That good, huh?”

 

Clarke rolls her eyes and playfully pushes Lexa away, catching sight of thin trail of red welts along Lexa’s throat and the very obvious hickey now blooming on the hollow of her collarbone. She decides to keep this information to herself in order to exact revenge on Lexa for her comment.

 

“Yeah, yeah, just lead the way.”

 

Lexa is not prepared for the look of horror Lincoln gives her when he sees them and Clarke is not prepared for how hard she laughs at the both of them.


	3. part three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Lexa get closer, all while denying that they are...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy SHIT, thanks so much for your patience and continued response after so many long months. i told you guys i wasn't giving up on this. with that said, enjoy! i look forward to hearing from y'all, as always. :)

After the night of Lincoln’s get-together, Lexa doesn’t see Clarke for another two and a half weeks—she’s busy herself, of course, but Clarke had also been traveling across the country with her team for a tournament. (Honestly, Lexa’s interest in sports was far into the negatives, but Clarke and her uniform shorts were  _ always _ relevant to her.) They had started out by texting here and there, conversations that always began as an offhand remark made by one of them and then somehow developed into a sort of catch-up on each other’s days. They fell into an easy routine before Lexa even realized it, and it only dawned on her in the middle of her breakfast as she was casually scrolling through the messages she had missed from Clarke the previous night—like she was reading the newspaper or something,  _ Jesus _ . 

 

It feels like way more of a friendship than  _ whatever _ it is that they agreed on.

 

Anya’s voice immediately pops into Lexa’s head at that, supplying her obviously expert analysis on their “agreement”:

 

_ “You’re fuck buddies, Lexa. If you think you’re enough of a big girl to have one, you can say the phrase out loud.” _

 

Naturally, it had been impossible to make it out of Lincoln’s without everyone knowing what she and Clarke had gotten up to after the  _ souvenirs  _ Clarke left all over Lexa’s neck ( _ again _ )—meaning that they had endured merciless teasing from every single one of their friends for the better part of the night. Eventually, everyone had more or less settled down after the novelty wore off, and Lexa’s embarrassment eventually faded away in the haze of too much beer and loud, lively conversation. It was surprising how  _ normal _ the rest of the night felt after that—Clarke seated beside Lexa on the backyard patio, offering side commentary on everything their friends said for Lexa’s ears only. More than once, she stood up and wordlessly replaced Lexa’s empty beers, delivering them with a lopsided grin and waving off Lexa’s thanks. 

 

( _ “You gave me an orgasm earlier. The least I can do is get you another beer.” _

 

_ “You guys know we can hear you, right? Like, you’re literally sitting next to me.” _ )

 

It turns out Clarke’s friends were laughably affectionate with each other after a few too many drinks, spending half the time speaking in their own language of inside jokes and the other half attempting to learn more about Lexa. The questions caught her off-guard at first—mostly because there seemed to be a genuine curiosity  _ beyond _ Clarke _. _ It was a strange sensation for her, fitting in with a new group of people so seamlessly. More than once, Clarke had to place a gentle hand on Lexa’s jaw, guiding her face away from whatever topic of conversation she and Bellamy were lost in again. Lexa only had it in her to be amused, arching an eyebrow when she was met with  _ pouting. _

 

_ “Does Abby know you don’t have manners?”  _ Bellamy’d asked Clarke after the third time, glaring at the side of her head.  _ “I’m trying to have a  _ **_conversation_ ** _ with my good friend, Lexa, but it’s hard to do when you keep hijacking her face.” _

 

Clarke rolled her eyes at him, but kept her focus on Lexa, a lingering smile tugging at her lips.  _ “Please tell me you like me better than him.” _

 

Lexa raised her brows slowly and nodded once, all mock-seriousness, the corner of her mouth curled into a grin.  _ “I could never choose Bellamy over your boobs.” _

 

_ “You’re so romantic,”  _ Clarke deadpanned, but she had leaned in nonetheless, moving in close enough that that their lips touched for the next few words,  _ “An absolute dreamboat.” _

 

Lexa had smiled, some slight warmth filling her at the underlying sincerity creeping through Clarke’s teasing. Still, she just laughed— _ “You’re welcome.” _

 

By the time the night was finally winding down, Lexa felt full and content, all the beer and laughter having cured her of her initial trepidation. When she went to leave, Clarke didn’t say goodbye—instead, she tangled their fingers together and squeezed briefly, then had her wait a couple of minutes. It had caused Lexa’s stomach to lurch in a way that she could admit wasn’t all that unpleasant and all she can really remember thinking was,  _ Shit, it’s been a while.  _

 

Clarke had returned shortly as promised, simply giving Lexa a glance and beginning the walk over to her apartment without stopping to wait. Lexa had stood dumbfounded for a couple of seconds, stared at her retreating back and only started walking to catch up when Clarke called out,  _ “You coming?”  _ over her shoulder. 

 

A sudden, loud buzzing noise interrupts Lexa’s thoughts, forcing her eyes away from the presentation she had been blankly staring at for the better part of an hour now. She glances at the name on the screen and her lips automatically twitch up into a smile. 

 

_ Clarke Griffin _ _  
_ **iMessage**

 

Lexa considers opening it, but she already knows that there’s really only one reason for why Clarke would be texting her this late, and it likely has little to do with needing help in class—or with wearing clothing, actually. Just as she picks up her phone with the intention of silencing it (because she really  _ does  _ need to get all of this work done, especially after all the time she’d already wasted thinking about Clarke anyway), it buzzes with another incoming message.  _ Whatever, fuck it _ , she decides, ignoring her own mind chastising her for being so easily  _ distracted _ , and swipes her thumb across the screen to open the texts.

 

Clarke Griffin

_ u busy? _

**10:32 P.M.**

 

_ don’t ignore me asshole. i let u fuck  _

_ me so u at least owe me a text back. _

**10:35 P.M.**

 

Lexa rolls her eyes and briefly considers writing a sarcastic message in return, but she ends up pressing the button to call Clarke instead. It takes all of two rings for Clarke to answer and two words for Lexa to know she’s been drinking.

 

_ “Lexa, hiiiiiiiii!” _

 

“I’m assuming all those vowels directly correlate with how many shots you’ve already had,” Lexa replies drily by way of greeting, catching the background noises of whatever party Clarke was at. 

 

(She’s fairly positive Raven was in the middle of cursing Octavia out over finishing the last of the nacho cheese Doritos.)

 

_ “Hey, guess what? No one asked you. You never answered my question, by the way.”  _

 

Clarke may sound a little tipsy, but she’s always lucid enough to come up with a snappy retort, apparently, and Lexa laughs despite herself. 

 

“I told you I have that big presentation coming up so do you really think I’m doing anything other than schoolwork right now?” Lexa’s eyes flit back to her laptop, where said presentation waits to be finished, mocking her. 

 

_ “Do you want to be?” _

 

Lexa almost drops her phone at the low husk of Clarke’s voice—it’s embarrassing how quickly she feels her interest spike, how easily Clarke can reduce her to this singular urge. She’s  _ exhausted  _ and has an early study group session to lead in the morning before a full day of class, but in the back of her mind, she knows it’s already too late ( _ really,  _ it was over the moment Lexa decided to open up the texts).

 

All Clarke has to do now is ask.

 

_ But that’s all she ever has to do, isn’t it? _

 

“ _ Clarke _ ,” says Lexa warningly instead, rubbing the heel of her palm against her forehead, as if she could physically push away the thoughts of spending the night with Clarke creeping into her mind now. 

 

_ “Lexa,”  _ Clarke replies teasingly. Then, quieter,  _ “Come pick me up. Wanna see you.”  _

 

Something in her feels satisfied by Clarke’s words, but Lexa keeps her tone droll enough to conceal it. “Luckily for you, I have at least three albums uploaded on Facebook. Also, when did you even get home?”

 

She’s trying her best to ignore the slow burn of  _ wanting _ igniting in her stomach, affection spreading in a mellow buzz through her mind—both at Clarke’s desire to see her and the simple knowledge that they’re in the same city again. Lexa recognizes the feeling for what it is (she’s not emotionally  _ inept _ ), but she is far from eager to admit it even just to herself.

 

Clarke ignores her completely, as she tends to do when Lexa is being a smartass (which is often.)  _ “Your Facebook albums can’t go down on me and I got home yesterday afternoon. Hey, be here in fifteen and I’ll even flash you my boobs.” _

 

Lexa  _ does  _ drop the phone at that, the device falling with a loud clatter onto her desk. She picks it up again in time to hear Clarke laughing loudly on the other end.

 

_ “Did you seriously just drop your phone? _ ”

 

“Shut up.”

 

_ “Lexa, you’ve  _ **_seen_ ** _ my boobs _ — _ you’ve even touched them, you know.” _

 

“I’m well aware,” Lexa mumbles into the phone, placing her cool palm on her now-burning cheeks. “They’re nice boobs, okay.”

 

_ “They’re  _ **_great_ ** _ boobs, which is why you should come pick me up. I’m at Bellamy’s.”  _ Another short pause and then Clarke is laughing to herself. _ “Tell you what, I’ll even let you feel me up again.” _

 

“Oh,  _ wow _ ,” replies Lexa, sarcasm practically dripping from her voice, “I can’t believe you’re offering up that much to a peasant like me.”

 

It was a poor cover-up for the slight increase in her heartbeat at Clarke’s ridiculous offer, though. She sighs inwardly, mentally cursing herself for her inability to be anything other than a desperate teenage boy at Clarke’s every move. For a stupid,  _ stupid  _ split second, Lexa wants to say something irresponsible like,  _ “Do you even  _ **_know_ ** _ what you do to me?” _

 

She squashes the urge in an instant.

 

_ “I guess it’s your lucky night _ — _ or it will be when you finally decide to stop dicking around and come get me.” _

 

For a moment, Lexa toys with the idea of telling Clarke that she really can’t tonight because she has a laundry list of things she needs to get done and not nearly enough time in the day to do them. It’s the running theme in her life, actually—being plagued with this nagging feeling that she could and  _ should _ always be doing something more productive. Her hand, however, has a mind of its own and she finds herself grabbing her car keys from the desk drawer without pause. It’s almost like she’s always going to lose to herself wherever Clarke is concerned, a fact that  _ does  _ stop Lexa in her tracks for just a second.

 

“Okay, yeah,” Lexa finally relents, pushing her previous thoughts to the back of her mind for another time. “Text me the address and I’ll be there in a few.”

 

She waits for the regret she almost always feels immediately after she makes plans when she has other pressing things, but it doesn’t come. Instead all she feels is anticipation worming its way into her chest, a soft, present glow that lingers well into her car ride over to Bellamy’s. 

 

* * *

 

By the time Lexa spots Clarke stumbling through Bellamy’s front door, she’s tapping her fingers nervously on her steering wheel, and every inch of her feels the weight of how much she actually  _ wants  _ to see Clarke. She hastily steps out of her car before she can scare herself into driving back to her apartment, and makes her way over to Clarke in long, confident strides only to stop short when they’re finally face-to-face.

 

Clarke smiles lazily, her glassy, content gaze sweeping appreciatively over Lexa once, twice. Neither of them speak for a moment and just as Lexa is about to pipe up with a smart remark ( _ anything _ to take away from the distracting flutter in her chest at the sight of deep blue and blown pupils), she’s met with an armful of Clarke Griffin, a warm and solid weight settling against her. The newfound closeness makes Lexa nervous, if only because she thinks there’s a legitimate chance that Clarke might be able to feel her heart beating embarrassingly fast. She lets out a slow breath, releasing as much tension as she can, and slowly allows her hands come to rest on Clarke’s waist, her palms almost thrumming at the pleasant warmth of the familiar skin underneath them. Clarke smells like whiskey and the barest hint of cigarettes, both ultimately overwhelmed by the smooth scent of her vanilla body wash and crisp laundry detergent. 

 

The heady combination triggers a flash of cloudy memories—Clarke stumbling into Lexa’s bed after that second night at Lincoln’s, laughing loudly when Lexa knocked their noses together in the darkness. Lexa remembers laughing then too, before she’d leaned in again and had pressed Clarke back onto the mattress, and touched her languidly well into the humid dawn. She remembers feeling the thrill of watching Clarke fall apart beneath her hands again, suspended in this strange and wonderful disbelief that she was the one rendering Clarke breathless and loose-limbed, a trembling, sweaty mess quietly exhaling her pleasure into the hollow of Lexa’s shoulder. She’d been able to smell Clarke on her sheets for days afterward, had spent the whole time pretending she didn’t have the time to throw them in the washer. 

 

Clarke is the first to draw back, wobbling a little as she straightens and takes in a better, clearer look at Lexa beneath the yellow glow of the street lamps. “You know, I was starting to think you’d actually leave me in this drunken hell.”

 

Lexa laughs, the sound bubbling forth with no reservations—thinks absently,  _ How is this always so easy?  _ “It can’t have been that bad. Don’t be dramatic.”

 

“Do you  _ know  _ who my friends are?” Clarke narrows her eyes at Lexa, reaching out to jab her square in the chest. “I think I drank my body weight in Jameson and I don’t even want to  _ talk  _ about how many of the beer bottles in there are mine.”

 

“Well, you’re remarkably lucid for being in the early stages of alcohol poisoning,” replies Lexa, shrugging and batting Clarke’s hand away. Then, gesturing back towards her car, “Should we get out of here before they all catch up to us?”

 

As if on cue (actually, in hindsight, Lexa would instead compare it to unwittingly summoning demons), a flicker of movement catches Lexa’s eye over Clarke’s shoulder and she moves her head to catch sight of Raven through the window, pointing to her and then to Clarke, smirking. Octavia is laughing next to her and Lexa watches as she leans over to say something to Raven, who cackles and nods furiously in return. Before Lexa can spend too much time wondering what act of terrorism they’d just agreed on, she sees Octavia step in front of Raven and bend over, her face twisting into some of the most obscene expressions Lexa had ever seen in her  _ life.  _ Clarke notices the shift in Lexa’s own facial features—which she’s fairly positive range the full spectrum between embarrassed and impressed—and whips around to see Raven firmly grip Octavia’s hips, striking up a furious back and forth motion behind her.

 

Clarke immediately cups her hands together over her mouth and hollers back, “Yeah, you think you’re funny, don’t you? Well, your technique fucking sucks! You both look like you’re being tasered!”

 

Raven and Octavia pointedly ignore her, continuing their lewd show with the same  _ rigorous  _ enthusiasm as before. Lexa turns around and marches straight toward her car because if there’s anything that being friends with  _ Anya  _ has taught her, it’s that her best option is always to pretend that none of it is happening. 

 

“Hey, you wait up!” Clarke calls behind her, whining at Lexa’s quick pace. “ _ Why _ are you walking so fast?”

 

“The faster I get to my car, the sooner I can be away from this entire scene when Bellamy’s neighbors call the cops on your friends,” replies Lexa, but she slows down and waits for Clarke.

 

Clarke surprises her by threading their arms together for the remainder of the walk, especially considering they’re only a few feet from Lexa’s car now. She stops them short of the passenger door when they reach it moments later and leans in, her breath hot on Lexa’s neck. “So, not to be totally lame or anything, but it’s nice to see you.”

 

Lexa swallows and allows a smile to surface at the sentiment, nudging lightly against Clarke in acknowledgment of it. She thinks it will stick with her for longer than she’s comfortable, hanging heavily onto her every thought of Clarke.  _ Stop. You’re not going to say any of this. _

 

Instead, she smiles again, teasingly this time. “You’re lame even without the alcohol induced confessions.”

 

“Look, you’re the one who keeps having sex with me so who’s the  _ real _ loser here?” 

 

Clarke looks briefly triumphant in her logic before a look of confusion crosses her features and Lexa laughs, reaching forward and tweaking Clarke’s nose lightly.

 

“I’m going to ignore your struggles with cognitive thinking right now because you’re actually kind of cute,” says Lexa, tugging on Clarke’s hand. “Are you ready?”

 

Clarke willingly goes, sliding into the passenger seat with only a little difficulty after Lexa opens the door for her. She stares up at Lexa (who remains standing), a smirk that Lexa already knows all too well touching the corner of her mouth. “You know, I think I like it better when I'm the one looking down at you.”

 

Lexa feels a flush of heat crawling up her neck, all the words dying in her suddenly dry mouth. In the end, she just coughs lightly and says, “You...are something else, Clarke Griffin. Try to keep it in your pants for another ten minutes.” 

 

Clarke’s amusement is visible in her eyes even after a night of drinking, clearly delighting in Lexa’s momentary lapse. “Get in the car, Lexa.”

 

The throaty command does  _ something _ for Lexa (it does a lot of things, actually, and none of them are remotely innocent), and all she can do is jerk her head in a curt nod and follow. 

 

* * *

 

The first couple of minutes of their car ride are mostly quiet, the low stream of music from Lexa’s iPod providing background noise. It’s easier this way, Lexa thinks, because Clarke’s face is turned away now and there are no familiar smells to prompt distracting memories that play in a loop in her mind. This way, she can actually concentrate on  _ driving _ and not endangering their lives because  _ god _ —if they both die because she was staring at Clarke Griffin’s cleavage… 

 

Lexa is not trusting the Powers That Be to  _ not  _ give her life an ending that embarrassing, honestly.

 

Clarke seems content with riding mostly in silence, humming along softly with the songs she happens to know. Lexa quickly finds herself surprised at Clarke’s recognition of every jazz song that pops up on shuffle, learning to watch for the strange smile that sneaks up on Clarke’s face every time—something sad and fond, all at once. 

 

_ I bet she's a lovely singer,  _ Lexa thinks for the nth time,  _ Maybe I'll find out.  _

 

Clarke breaks the quiet then, her voice hoarse and reflecting that particular smile that Lexa struggles to pin an exact emotion to. 

 

“My dad loved jazz.”

 

_ Loved.  _

 

Oh. Well,  _ fuck. _

 

Lexa nods, mostly to herself, and does the only thing she can think to do—she removes one hand from the steering wheel and places it as gently as she can on Clarke's thigh, hoping it says,  _ I’m here _ . She's not  _ good  _ at knowing how to accept this kind of vulnerability from people—let alone people she's sleeping with, but there's a tiny piece of her that wants to be, right now. She's not even sure that Clarke will remember a whole lot of this tomorrow, but it feels important. 

 

All worries flee her mind when she feels Clarke close a hand over hers, something like gratitude shining on her face. “I can talk about it without being sad, mostly. I can at least promise I'm not gonna end up drunk crying on you.”

 

“Oh,  _ thank god _ ,” Lexa breathes a sigh of relief, earning a loud laugh from Clarke. “I think I would run away, honestly.”

 

“Of course you would, chickenshit,” snorts Clarke, seemingly completely unsurprised. “How can  _ anyone  _ expect a 22-year-old woman to be prepared for an encounter with genuine human emotions?”

 

Lexa pinches Clarke's thigh in response, laughing when Clarke slaps her hand away and glares at her in return. She reaches for Clarke's hand again as a truce then, carefully lacing their fingers together and letting them come to rest in Clarke’s lap. 

 

“Thanks for telling me.” 

 

Lexa hopes it sounds as honest as it feels. She wants to give Clarke this small comfort, even if it does nothing to actually help. 

 

“Thanks for working past your emotional stuntedness.”

 

Clarke's honesty catches her off-guard and Lexa dissolves into laughter at the red light, wondering,  _ What’s that like? To not overthink everything someone does for you?  _ She doesn't know, but Clarke has so far been the best teacher. 

 

“Hey, while we’re stopped—a deal’s a deal,” says Clarke suddenly, disentangling their hands and interrupting Lexa’s internal musings. 

 

She looks over at that, catching Clarke's eye just before it’s obscured by her shirt and— _ The fuck is she doing? _

 

Her train of thought comes to a screeching halt because Clarke was  _ definitely  _ wearing a shirt a minute ago and now…

 

Lexa could only stare, only dimly aware of her mouth dropping open wordlessly. There seemed to be no other coherent thought surfacing in her mind except,  _ Oh, my god  _ and also— _ How are those real?  _ She's vaguely aware that she has been rendered fully useless, but the driver behind her who lays on his horn drives the point home and she looks up to see the light has long since turned green. 

 

Lexa mutters a quick string of curses, springing into action while Clarke just laughs and pulls her shirt back down. 

 

“Are you  _ trying  _ to make me wreck my car? Jesus, Clarke,” Lexa shakes her head, keeps her eyes fixed on the road while she tries to gain control of her heartbeat again. 

 

“I was honoring my part of the deal since you did yours,” Clarke replies, still grinning, her eyes taking in the flush Lexa is sure must be high on her cheeks. “Where would I be without my integrity?”

 

“Is that what we're calling it?”

 

“Sure is. Now stop acting like it's my fault that you're so easily distracted.”

 

Lexa merely rolls her eyes, grateful that her heartbeat was returning to normal as they approached the parking lot of her apartment complex. Clarke only stumbles once on her way up to Lexa’s apartment, and she recovers by clinging to Lexa’s side even though it makes it harder for her to unlock the door. 

 

“Do you need help, buddy?” Clarke teases after watching Lexa fumble with her keys for a second. She leans in, closes her teeth lightly around a small area of sensitive skin on Lexa’s neck. “I can show you how to use the key, if you want.”

 

“Maybe it’d be easier if I didn’t have a leech on my side limiting my range of motion.” 

 

It would have been a better comeback if her voice didn’t tremble from from the feel of Clarke’s mouth, and the pang in her stomach because she’d  _ missed  _ it. She feels more than hears Clarke chuckle as she finally gets the door to unlock. Once they’re inside, Lexa doesn’t bother with turning on any of the living room or hallway lights, instead allowing Clarke to lead them into her bedroom wordlessly. She wastes no time in backing Lexa up towards the edge of the bed and— _ Christ _ , Lexa thinks, swallowing hard when Clarke motions for her to sit. So she does, resting her palms on the mattress behind her to help her remain upright, and it feels like there’s nothing she can do but stare. She isn’t used to feeling like this—like all she wants to do is  _ watch  _ because she wants to catch every breath, every movement. Everything about Clarke  _ does  _ something to her, and it gets harder and harder to mask after each time they see each other this way. 

 

_ Are you even hearing yourself? This is not the situation for those kinds of thoughts, Lexa, fuck. _

 

“Do you relax?” Clarke laughs quietly, leaning down to drop a brief kiss on Lexa’s cheek. “Like,  _ ever _ ? ’Cause you’re about to get laid so I’d say that’s a pretty damn good reason to stop your brain from kicking into overdrive.”

 

Lexa sighs, reaching to grab Clarke’s hips and pull her forward until she finally moves to straddle her lap. “Sorry, sorry, I know I’m the worst.”

 

“Well, as long as you  _ know. _ ”

 

Lexa smiles, holding Clarke’s gaze and sliding both hands up to cup the warm sides of her neck. “Does it help if I say that I was thinking about you anyway?”

 

She surprises the both of them with that—Lexa can see it etched clearly onto Clarke’s features, but before she gets the chance to kick herself, she watches a slow smile appear. 

 

“You’re cute, you know that? Kind of cheesy, but— _ cute. _ ” Clarke’s hands drift down to the waistband of Lexa’s jeans, and she thumbs open the button easily while she lands a soft kiss to Lexa’s mouth. “Now shut up and let me put out for you.”

 

“You know, that doesn’t sound half bad,” Lexa mumbles against Clarke’s lips, unable to hold back a smile of her own.

 

Clarke doesn’t reply, but she does lean back a little from Lexa’s hold and rids herself of her shirt in one smooth motion. Lexa hears her own breath catch and Clarke laughs softly, moving in to kiss her again, messy and purposeful, before tugging off her shirt too. Lexa slides a hand down to the small of Clarke’s back, urging her closer and closer, until she feels dizzy with their shared breath and Clarke’s warmth. She wraps her arms around to grip at soft, yielding hips, tracing the smooth plane of skin there.

 

Clarke is kissing her hard enough to tilt her head backwards and Lexa presses back with equal vigor, ignoring the sharp sting of teeth against her bottom lip. Clarke’s hands are everywhere now, moving over every place on Lexa that she can reach, impatient and insistent. It isn’t long before Lexa lets herself fall back onto the bed, pulling Clarke down with her. She reaches up to tuck strands of blonde waves behind Clarke’s ears, allowing herself just a moment to take in the way Clarke looks in the dim moonlight of her bedroom. Her mouth is already kiss-swollen, her skin flushed a pretty pink that Lexa can never resist. She brings her thumb up to Clarke’s mouth, pressing lightly just to  _ feel _ , and she’s rewarded with Clarke gently snagging it with her teeth. It makes Lexa smile even as she moves her thumb down to the base of Clarke’s throat, where she also carefully applies pressure.

 

Clarke fixes her with a look that says,  _ Oh, really? _ and Lexa laughs quietly.

 

There’s a fondness in Clarke’s eyes that mirrors the fluttering sensation between Lexa’s ribs at the sight of her, and she feels the flash of panic throb in her chest. But then Clarke grabs her hands and laces their fingers together, bringing their joined fists up above Lexa’s head and pinning them there while she starts a slow rhythm with her hips that  _ ruins  _ both of them. 

 

“Let me do this for you,” Clarke whispers into the crook of Lexa neck then, nosing brown curls away to sear a trail of hot kisses down her throat that leave her breathless. 

 

_ Like I would say no to you,  _ Lexa silently admits to herself before finally allowing the overwhelming sensation of being close to Clarke again take over.

 

* * *

 

When Clarke wakes up, it’s dark outside and the alarm clock on the nightstand glares at her with bright digits she can barely make out with her bleary eyes.  **4:30 A.M.** _ Shit.  _ She groans into the pillow, her body slowly catching up with her brain. It takes a minute, but Clarke soon realizes that she fell asleep at  _ Lexa’s.  _ They both must’ve passed out by accident, sometime during their lazy conversation as they were catching their breaths and recovering.

 

“Goddamn it,” mutters Clarke, rubbing a fist over each of her eyes and swallowing against the bitter taste of stale alcohol on her tongue. 

 

She looks over to the side of the bed, wholly unprepared for the sight of Lexa in an oversized t-shirt, her wild hair fanned out on the pillow. She’s annoyingly pretty as she sleeps, her mouth parted just a fraction, the thick fringe of her lashes visible against the tops of her cheeks. Clarke reaches out without even thinking about it, brushing her thumb over the pouty curve of Lexa’s bottom lip. Lexa sighs in her sleep at the sensation, her breath warming Clarke’s fingertips instantly. Clarke watches the even rise and fall of her chest for another few moments, the distinct and undeniable stirring of affection welling up in her stomach. She leans over and presses a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of Lexa's mouth—and really, all that does is make her want to crawl back into bed with her.  _ That's definitely enough sap for now, Griffin.  _

 

“I should get out of here,” she murmurs to herself instead, drawing back.

 

_ I shouldn’t even be here right now. This is literally the cardinal sin in a fuckbuddy relationship,  _ Clarke thinks (she’s not panicking—she’s  _ not _ ). She hunts around the room for her clothing, dressing herself as quickly and quietly as she can. She finds her phone underneath Lexa’s bra and blinks through the blinding light to request an Uber, thanking god for technology because she definitely wasn’t thinking past getting laid last night and hadn’t planned for a way to get home. She makes sure she has all of her belongings together, sparing another glance at Lexa’s sleeping form, before slipping out of the room silently.

 

It doesn’t take long for Clarke to make it home (she’s asleep for most of the cab ride anyway) and trudge through the front door, dropping her purse onto the kitchen counter with a loud thump. She’s fairly sure neither Raven or Octavia are home; all three of them had clearly taken advantage of the fact that they’d have the day off today.  _ Hey, we all probably had sex last night. Go team. _

 

It takes all of ten minutes for Clarke to get ready to go back to bed, but as soon as her head hits the pillow, her mind decides it’s the most opportune time to process her entire night. Most of the first half of the night at Bellamy’s was a blur, but she’d been sobering up by the time she called Lexa to pick her up. Truthfully, Clarke had asked with the expectation that Lexa would say no because the girl literally  _ could not _ take a break from work, but it had ended up the opposite. Lexa’d agreed after minimal convincing, showing up at Bellamy’s with nervousness etched onto her entire being, like she didn’t quite know how to act about wanting to see Clarke, too. 

 

The whole thing was endearing, Clarke had to admit—and she didn't regret it, even if calling Lexa meant her friends refused to stop teasing her for leaving the party early. 

 

( _ “Shut up, assholes. I’m just trying to get laid.” _

 

_ Octavia snorted, “Yeah, okay. That’s probably why you text each other all the time too, huh?” _ )

 

_ Well, they’re not wrong,  _ Clarke thinks, mind drifting to all the conversations she and Lexa keep having  _ every day.  _ It’s a routine, really, and it doesn’t make Clarke feel as panicked as she thought it would because, well—she  _ likes _ Lexa. As a person, as a friend, as…whatever it is they have. She catches herself thinking of Lexa more and more often, which is the last thing she thought would happen after spending the last couple of weeks  _ away  _ from her. It was easy, though, and it was actually something good, something she didn't have to think twice about doing because Lexa wasn't asking for things she couldn't give. 

 

And if it ever started to get complicated, then they would end it.  _ Simple as that, yeah? Lexa doesn't  _ _ do _ _ relationships,  _ Clarke nods to herself in the darkness.  _ And neither do you.  _

 

Except _ — _ there's a disconcerting twinge in her stomach at the thought of having to revert back to nothingness with Lexa if it ever got to that point.  _ Alright, okay, get a grip now, Clarke—it wouldn't be the end of the world. She's just a girl.  _

 

“It is way too fucking early for this,” Clarke groans out loud, throwing an arm over both eyes. 

 

She wills sleep to find her again, but it doesn’t, no matter how much she tries to relax herself back into it. Soon enough, daylight is peeking in through the blinds—an annoying reminder that the she has to start her day eventually, even if she hasn’t gotten more than three hours of sleep total. She stays in bed for at least another hour though, at least giving her body a slight chance to recover from the night’s antics. She's on the verge of  _ maybe  _ drifting off when her phone chirps from the nightstand, screen lit up with a notification. 

 

“I'm never going to sleep, damn it.” 

 

She grabs her phone and brings it up to her face, her irritation quickly fading when she sees it’s Lexa. Clarke laughs a little to herself,  _ Of course she’s already awake. Freak. _

 

Lexa

_ Did you make it home okay? _

_ You could've woken me up, you know… _

**7:34 A.M.**

 

Clarke smiles before she can catch herself, her thumbs already tapping out a response. 

 

_ but u looked sorta cute sleeping _

_ and yes i’m home _

**7:36 A.M.**

 

Embarrassingly enough, she watches the three dots on her screen intently until Lexa's response comes through. 

 

Lexa

_ Stunning compliment. Do you _

_ have practice later? _

**7:42 A.M.**

 

_ nah i have the day off _

_ to recover but i do have a  _

_ shit ton of studying to do _

**7:45 A.M.**

 

It's only because her cheeks start to hurt that Clarke realizes she's been smiling this entire time, which is…mildly concerning.  _ Fuck, this is like high school all over again. _

 

Lexa

_ Well, good luck with that and  _

_ have a good day. I'll text you  _

_ later, yeah?  _

**7:57 A.M.**

 

_ u too, sounds good :) _

**8:02 A.M.**

 

_ A fucking smiley face, seriously, Clarke?  _ She sighs, dropping her phone onto the bed next to her and forcing her legs to swing over the side of her bed. It’s nice to  _ think  _ she has the day off because Kane allowed them a day of rest after an intense couple of weeks, but Clarke hadn’t lied when she told Lexa she needed to catch up on schoolwork. She vaguely recalled making plans with both Raven and Octavia to head to the library for a few hours, but she had yet to hear from either of them.  _ Huh, haven’t heard from my roommates, but I’ve already checked in with Lexa… _

 

Clarke doesn’t even want to let her mind go  _ there. _ It’s with that that she decides to get ready to get a head start at the library, figuring she might as well be productive if her body won’t let her rest.  _ Better than laying in bed all day and low-key panicking about my feelings, too.  _ She’s out the door and in her car in minutes, shooting a group message to her roommates to let them know of her whereabouts for the next few hours. 

 

About two hours into her study session, Clarke looks up to see Raven trudging her way over. She drops her bags carelessly onto the table as a greeting. Clarke takes her earbuds out, arching an eyebrow.

 

“Well, hey to you too,” she says slowly, closing her psychology book for the time being. “How’s Bellamy?”

 

“Fuck off,” grumbles Raven, running a hand through her unkempt hair and plopping down on the seat in front of Clarke. “Like you didn’t get fucked six ways from Sunday last night.” 

 

Raven can’t do anything to disguise that she  _ looks  _ like she had a long night, though—her eyes are bloodshot, rimmed by dark circles, and Clarke would honestly venture to say she closely resembled a prop zombie from  _ The Walking Dead _ . 

 

“Am I supposed to be insulted?” Clarke reaches forward to flick Raven in between the eyes regardless, snickering when she yelps. “Where’s Octavia?”

 

“Probably still going at it with Lincoln, honestly. I’ll tell you what, that time we fucked last year—”

 

“Can we just, maybe  _ not  _ talk about that in the library right now? Or ever?”

 

“Why, are you getting turned on?”

 

Clarke pauses and tilts her head, considering the idea. “Huh, maybe. But I also have too much homework to get kicked out so shut up.”

 

“I’m more interested in hearing about your night with your girlfriend either way,” retorts Raven, smirking when she sees Clarke’s cheeks tinge pink. “Are you guys engaged yet or what?”

 

“She’s nowhere  _ near  _ my girlfriend,” Clarke replies, her tone a little too defensive even to her own ears.  _ Spending the night did a number on me, fuck.  _ She cracks open her book again, pointedly ignoring Raven’s penetrating gaze. 

 

“Okay, you not only left a party  _ early _ , but you had Lexa pick you up. That’s not nothing,” Raven continues anyway, ignoring Clarke’s attempt to  _ ignore her. _

 

“I didn’t say it was nothing,” mutters Clarke, regretting it the second it leaves her mouth. She watches Raven’s eyes widen and quickly recovers, “I just meant that we’re friends. Of course she’s not  _ nothing  _ to me.”

 

Raven looks like she’s going to say something else, but she pauses and then shrugs. “Fine, whatever you say then. But from this moment on, I have total bragging rights if I ever hear you call her your girlfriend.”

 

“You know, I could say all the same things to you about  _ Bellamy. _ ”

 

“I have no problem admitting that Bellamy is my girlfriend.”

 

“What about my brother?”

 

Both Raven and Clarke’s heads whip up to see Octavia standing there, looking back and forth between them questioningly as she sets her things down.  _ Spectacular timing,  _ Clarke thinks dryly. 

 

“I was just asking where you both ended up after the party,” Clarke says, watching as Octavia seems to accept the answer. “Glad to see you’re alive and well.”

 

Octavia scoffs, grabbing a water bottle from her backpack and taking a long swig. “Please, last night was child’s play.” She fixes Clarke with a look, narrowing her eyes. “Especially for you, since you decided to leave  _ before 11. _ I didn’t know getting wifed up would make you so lame.”

 

“We are  _ not _ —”

 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” interrupts Octavia, “You don’t date, blah blah blah.”

 

Clarke glares at her, extending the same gesture to a now laughing Raven. “I  _ don’t.  _ And for fuck’s sake, we aren’t!”

 

“So where’d you sleep last night?” Raven asks, a smug look overtaking her features. 

 

“Our apartment,” Clarke automatically lies, refusing to look either of her friends in the eye. “Where else would I sleep?”

 

“You’re  _ lying _ ,” Octavia jeers, “You totally slept at Lexa’s, you fucker.”

 

“We’re fuckbuddies, of course I don’t spend the night. Never have and I don’t intend to start, really.” Clarke can feel her ears burning, which should be telling, but there’s no way she’s going to admit to them that she stayed at Lexa’s. She doesn’t even want to think about it herself, actually. “Can we get to studying now? I was way more productive without you useless assholes harassing me.”

 

“You’re only off the hook because I have so much physics homework I actually want to puke,” declares Raven, pulling her textbooks out of her bag. “But we won’t forget this, Griffin. The North remembers.”

 

Clarke stares back at her blankly. “What?”

 

Raven looks downright offended, but she doesn’t bother explaining, choosing instead to shake her head in disappointment. They finally manage to quiet themselves down, each of them plugging their headphones in and tackling a different subject. After another long while, Clarke shuts her book again, rubbing her eyes tiredly until colors explode behind her lids. She grabs her phone out of her backpack, scrolling through her notifications from the afternoon until she comes across a text from Lexa from about an hour ago. She opens it immediately, chuckling a little when she sees it’s a picture of a murderous-looking Anya captioned,  _ Her hanger is way too real for the wait here right now.  _ Clarke recognizes the background as one of her favorite sandwich shops in town and it’s then that she realizes she hasn’t eaten at all today.

 

But it’s too early to call it quits on the studying. She feels the weight of Raven’s stare as she starts typing up a response and she schools her features into what she hopes is neutrality.

 

_ hahaha she looks really happy _

_ as always. i’m jealous tho, haven’t  _

_ had time to grab lunch.  _

**2:32 P.M.**

 

Lexa’s reply comes quickly enough that Clarke catches it before putting her phone away again.

 

Lexa

_ Still at the library? _

**2:33 P.M.**

 

_ yup. i’ll text you when _

_ i’m finally done. might be  _

_ never tho. _

**2:35 P.M.**

 

After that, Clarke shoves her phone back in her bag and returns her attention back to her textbook, figuring that the less time she gives herself to be distracted by her phone and  _ Lexa _ , the better.

 

That lasts all of thirty minutes before Clarke notices Raven looking up with equal parts disbelief and smug satisfaction (a classic Raven Reyes expression, really). She and Octavia follow Raven’s eyes to land on—

 

“Lexa?” Clarke says, dumbfounded for a solid few seconds. 

 

They all remove their headphones as Lexa nears the table, an almost  _ shy  _ expression on her face. Clarke takes a minute to, well,  _ check her out _ —and it’s then that she notices the brown bag in her hand. Clarke squints at it, immediately noticing the familiar logo.

 

It’s from the sandwich shop.

 

_ Did she really _ —

 

“Hey,” Lexa finally says, smiling a little and nodding at Raven and Octavia. “If I had known you two were here, I would’ve brought more food.”

 

“Please tell me you know Clarke’s sandwich order,” Raven deadpans in response, a grin creeping onto her face. 

 

Octavia snorts and Clarke finds Raven’s shin under the table with the hard edge of her shoe, satisfied when she lets out a pained and surprised yelp. Clarke stands up quickly (before she can be further embarrassed) and winces at the loud scrape of the chair against the floor. She wordlessly grabs Lexa’s free hand and tugs her towards the bookcases, ignoring Raven loudly asking if she was going to “thank” her now.

 

As soon as they’re out of sight, Clarke presses Lexa back onto the books and kisses her, swallowing her little gasp of surprise. Her heartbeat quickens at how easily Lexa kisses back, like she doesn’t even need to think twice about it now.  _ So far from the girl who couldn’t look me in the eye after we first fucked,  _ Clarke thinks—almost laughs into Lexa’s mouth. They kiss languidly until they remember where they are and move away from each other, both flushed and out of breath.

 

“Well, you must be starving,” Lexa quips after they’ve mostly gathered themselves. She runs a hand through her loose hair, green eyes flicking up to meet Clarke’s, and it’s  _ devastating _ , the way Lexa looks on a Sunday afternoon.  _ Or every day. _

 

Clarke recovers and rolls her eyes, because Lexa is still a  _ nerd.  _ “I’ll always give up my body in exchange for food, actually.”

 

“Noted,” says Lexa, handing over Clarke’s sandwich. “I hope I remembered your absurdly complicated sandwich order correctly.”

 

Clarke immediately notices the blush that spreads across Lexa’s face, all the way to the tips of of her ears, and she doesn’t even care to deny how  _ endeared  _ she is. 

 

“I’m probably gonna inhale the whole thing so it doesn’t matter that much,” reassures Clarke, smiling. She hooks a finger into Lexa’s front pocket, tugging her a bit closer. “Thanks for doing this. You really didn’t have to, but you definitely get a fastpass to my pants for it.”

 

“The line to get into your pants can’t be that long…”

 

Clarke pins her with a glare. “I knew you were being too nice. Stop hanging out with my friends.”

 

Lexa laughs and pulls Clarke into a quick half-hug, planting a kiss to her temple. “It was too easy, I’m sorry.”

 

“Yeah, whatever,” Clarke waves off Lexa’s apology, but leans into her anyway, soon feeling a hand trace over the skin on her lower back, just underneath her shirt.

 

Lexa continues the motion for some long moments, and Clarke doesn’t even feel self-conscious about how  _ nice _ it is to just stand there together. Eventually, Lexa clears her throat and puts a small amount of distance between them. 

 

“I should let you go now. You’ve got a sandwich to inhale and I know for a fact that you have at least  _ one _ final coming up.” Though she’s trying to say goodbye, Lexa moves in for a string of quick kisses against Clarke’s smiling mouth.

 

“If only I could just get the TA to pass me for my spectacular skills in bed,” replies Clarke nonchalantly, watching Lexa smile out of the corner of her eye.

 

“You’d have to be spectacular in bed for that…” 

 

“I’m so glad you’re leaving now.”

 

Even as she says that, Clarke takes hold of Lexa’s hand and squeezes briefly before walking them back out to the study area. Raven and Octavia eye them like starving hawks as they say their goodbyes, and Clarke makes sure to keep her voice low when she thanks Lexa again and tells her she’ll talk to her later. As soon as she rejoins her friends and sets her food down, Clarke steels herself for the endless string of comments she’s sure are to follow. Neither of them say anything though, choosing instead to greet her with matching knowing smirks.

 

“Shut the fuck up,” Clarke mumbles as she begins unwrapping her sandwich. 

 

When she takes the first bite, she knows right away that Lexa got the whole order right (she might’ve been lying about not being able to tell…).  _ I’m so fucked,  _ Clarke thinks, not for the first time today—but this time, something tells her she might not be alone in it.

 

She’s not sure whether the idea is comforting or terrifying.

 

* * *

 

The next couple of weeks pass in a flurry of classes,  _ more  _ classes, teaching classes, and Clarke, at the end of most days. They end up hanging out as often as they sleep together and Lexa would be more concerned about it if Clarke wasn’t so  _ laid-back  _ about everything. She couldn’t deny that what they had going was effortless, and it only seemed to get easier as more time elapsed. Their physical intimacy was more contained to the bedroom, for obvious reasons, but Lexa could now say that she and Clarke were genuinely good friends. 

 

Regardless—if she’s aiming to be completely honest, Lexa knows they’re toeing a fine line. The thing with Clarke, though, is that she does a damn good job of making her believe she’d never do anything to damage what they had going. 

 

She feels  _ safe _ with Clarke, and ironically enough, it’s the most dangerous emotion Lexa can imagine having. 

 

She hadn’t had much time to freak out about the realization with finals week approaching anyway, nor had she seen Clarke lately for more than a couple of minutes at a time during or after class. Now though, Lexa finds herself sitting in her car in the parking lot of the university’s sports stadium, nervously tapping on her steering wheel. The last time she’d seen Clarke, they had had a quick lunch on campus in between Lexa’s class and Clarke’s soccer practice. Towards the end of it, Clarke casually mentioned that she had an important game coming up, and that Lexa was welcome to join Bellamy, Lincoln, and a few of her other friends to tailgate and attend the game together. 

 

It isn’t that she doesn’t want to be here. 

 

On the contrary, she does—it sounds actually sounds like it’s going to be  _ fun _ , which is alarming because she cares about approximately one thousand things more than she does about sports. Part of her wonders where she has to draw the line with a benefits-only relationship, and then there’s a part of her that reminds her that she’s become friends with Clarke.  _ It’s not weird,  _ she tells herself,  _ You’re friends.  _ Even so, Lexa has yet to work up the nerve to get out of her car and find Clarke’s friends. She can almost hear Clarke in the back of her mind saying, “They’re your friends too now, unfortunately for you.”

 

Just as Lexa is about to finally open her door, a loud bang from the passenger window nearly makes her jump out of her skin. She looks up to see a laughing Lincoln on the other side, his face and bare chest smeared with decorative paint in their school’s colors. Lexa huffs in annoyance and steps out of the car, holding her arms up in defense in front of her when Lincoln moves like he’s going to hug her.

 

“You’re going to get paint all over my clothes,” Lexa says in greeting. “And thanks for the heart attack.”

 

Lincoln shrugs. “You looked like you were in a panic so I figured I would be nice enough to take your mind off of it.”

 

Lexa glares at him as they begin walking to where she presumes the rest of the group is. “I was not.”

 

“You weren’t panicking because being here made you think about how much you like Clarke?”

 

“No,” Lexa lies, even though she knows Lincoln can  _ always _ tell.  He and Anya have had field days with her in ability to lie in the past. “I was listening to music.”

 

“Your car was off,” he points out.

 

“The music was in my head.”

 

“Yeah, because you were thinking about  _ Clarke. _ ”

 

They’re still bickering when they reach Bellamy and a couple of other guys just outside of a tent by the entrance of the stadium. It takes all of thirty seconds before Lexa has an open beer in her hand and an excited Bellamy holding out a jersey in front of her.

 

“Hey! Clarke left this for you to wear,” Bellamy says, smirking a little. “You don’t get much of a choice, sorry.”

 

Lexa takes hold of the jersey as she knocks back at least half the bottle of beer ( _ For the nerves _ ), heart skipping a beat when she notices the name on the back. She pulls it over her tank top without putting too much thought into it, catching the lingering smell of Clarke’s body wash. 

 

“You need facepaint,” says another one of the guys there—Lexa vaguely remembers being introduced to him on campus at some point.  _ Monty,  _ she’s fairly sure. “C’mere!”

 

Bellamy nudges her forward and Lexa throws him a withering look, which only makes him snicker. Monty applies the paint carefully and Lexa tries her best to fight the urge to drain the rest of her beer and sit still. He’s finishes it quickly though and Lexa brings her phone up to her face to see Clarke’s jersey number on her cheek. She decides to snap a picture of herself, captioning it with a wish for good luck before sending it to Clarke in case she gets to check her phone before the game. 

 

“Now that that’s taken care of, everybody meet Lexa,” Bellamy raises his beer bottle in a salute and the surrounding guys follow suit. “This ugly fuck right here is Murphy, and that’s Miller, Jasper, and Monty.”

 

They all nod and throw out a few hellos (with Murphy’s being, “Don’t act like you wouldn’t bang this ‘ugly fuck’!”), which Lexa responds to with a murmured greeting of her own. She’s almost positive she’d seen each of them on separate occasions, but it’s somewhat difficult to make out their full appearances when they were covered in paint.

 

“You got here right as we were about to begin an age-old tradition in tailgating,” says Lincoln, moving around Lexa to walk closer towards their tent area. 

 

Lexa quirks an eyebrow as she follows and polishes off her beer, throwing the bottle in a nearby trashcan. “And that would be…?”

 

She spots the steer barrel at the same time that Murphy declares, “Keg stands!”

 

“And as the guest of honor, you’re the first up,” Bellamy throws an arm around Lexa’s shoulders, moving her to the front of the keg.

 

“Uh, no, no, no,” Lexa quickly protests, shaking her head. “I’ll stick to bottled beer and respecting gravity.”

 

“Nope, it’s tradition.” Lincoln comes up to the other side of her, raising his brows in a challenge. “And I already told them about your legendary undergrad career, so you can’t let them down.”

 

Lexa stares at him. “‘My legendary undergrad career’? You mean the time Anya got me shitfaced at my first college party and entered me into the frat drinking contest without my knowledge?”

 

“You’re leaving out the part where you  _ won  _ the keg stand part of the competition.”

 

“Probably because I don’t  _ remember _ that part.”

 

“Monty has other illegal substances if beer isn’t your thing,” Jasper says behind them.

 

Monty nods eagerly. “It’s true.”

 

“Beer is definitely her thing,” answers Lincoln and Lexa can’t even deny it because they frequent breweries together. “C’mon, Lex! How else do you expect to sit through a whole soccer game? Last week, I heard you tell Anya on the phone that Clarke was one of the quarterbacks.”

 

_ Touche,  _ Lexa thinks, feeling her resolve slip,  _ I mean, he’s probably right; everything is way more enjoyable drunk.  _

 

She sighs and relents soon after that, stepping out from under Bellamy’s arm. “Fine! But I’m only doing this  _ once _ .”

 

The guys let out a collective cheer and crowd around her, positioning themselves to set her up for a successful turn. Lexa throws her hair up in a messy ponytail and takes a deep breath, attempting to mentally prepare herself for what she was about to do to her liver and dignity. Lincoln hands his phone over to Miller, tasking him with taking a video to send to Anya later on. 

 

Lexa scowls at him, but before she can say anything, he and Bellamy are lifting her up and then down towards the mouthpiece with relative ease. Lexa braces herself, thinks,  _ Here goes nothing.  _

 

It ends up being horrible. 

 

Only because she manages to to go for a solid minute and a half, which means that when they set her back down, it almost puts her on her ass. Her vision is swimming when the blood rushes back into her head, and her body is weightless in comparison to a few minutes ago. 

 

Murphy is staring at her with a look of utter disbelief while Bellamy and Lincoln hold each other up through raucous laughter. Miller is also laughing behind the still-going camera, alternating between all of them to capture their reactions. 

 

“Holy shit,” Murphy whispers, almost reverently. He lifts his beer bottle up, presumably out of respect. “That was unreal.”

 

“Where do you put all of it?” Jasper asks dumbly. 

 

Lexa lets out a sharp breath. “Right now? That went straight to my brain.”

 

She may or may not be slurring a little, which makes everyone laugh all over again.  _ Oh boy, I'm in for a night… _

 

“How are you still so good at that?” Lincoln wonders out loud in awe. 

 

“I do yoga regularly and I have really great breath control,” says Lexa seriously. 

 

She remembers giving Clarke a similar answer once, when Clarke had asked why she was so “bendy” and never seemed to run out of breath. The memory makes Lexa blush now, and she's vaguely grateful that she also has the alcohol to blame too. 

 

“Alright, who's up next?” asks Murphy, looking around expectantly at them. 

 

Lexa immediately points to her right. “Bellamy would love the honor.”

 

He accepts the revenge with no argument and moves into place so that Lincoln and Murphy can lift him up. They all take their turns quickly after that, eager to get a good buzz going before the game, and Lincoln’s weaseling convinces Lexa to do a couple more. It isn't long before they're all a little too tipsy to pay attention to the rotation or to be able to properly lift each other up. They abandon the game in favor of packing up all of their things as best as they could, but it was difficult to focus when they were all inebriated and clumsy. 

 

Lexa herself was leaving heavily on Lincoln for support, not having prepared herself for so much  _ beer.  _ They were all having a great time regardless, just drunk enough to enjoy it but not so much that they were out of control. Mostly, Lexa felt the anticipation to see Clarke on the field, even if she knows next to nothing about soccer. It was a nice thought, that Clarke wanted to introduce her to this part of her life. And leaving her spare jersey for Lexa to wear… _ that _ was something else she might never admit to liking as much as she did. 

 

“Why isn’t Anya here anyway?” asks Lincoln then, bringing Lexa out of her thoughts. He looks like he feels as good as Lexa does now.

 

Lexa snorts and gestures around them at the thickening crowd of rowdy college students headed to the game. It almost makes her dizzy to look from person to person so rapidly. “Does this look like her scene?”

 

“True,” concedes Lincoln. He looks over at Lexa with an expression that’s a little too mischievous for her liking. “So, how  _ are  _ things with Clarke? Probably pretty good, I’m guessing, since this isn’t exactly your scene either.”

 

_ There it is.  _ Lexa had figured that it was only a matter of time before someone there questioned her about Clarke, and it might as well be Lincoln. She’s more honest after a few drinks, with others and herself, so the question makes her think, makes her realize that she doesn’t really want to lie about it because it’s not  _ bad.  _

 

“Yeah,” Lexa confesses quietly. “It’s not—I don’t want a commitment, but it’s  _ good.  _ I really like being around her and we have fun together, at least.”

 

“Don’t count it out just yet, okay?” Lincoln just says.

 

Lexa doesn’t reply to that, but the suggestion stays with her all the way up until they make their way into the stadium and over to their seats. She thinks about it again when Clarke’s eyes find hers all the way across the field, clear and bright.

 

* * *

 

They win the game, but just barely. It’s far from an easy victory, but it makes for a definite feeling of pride when the final whistle blows. Clarke feels like her legs are about five minutes from falling off as she limps to the edge of the field, where she can make out Bellamy and Lincoln’s heads over the crowds of people. It doesn’t take her long to spot Lexa, looking a mixture of relaxed, excited, and  _ drunk.  _ She knows Raven and Octavia should be close behind her, but she doesn’t feel like waiting (which she knows she’ll catch shit for). As soon as she reaches her friends, she drops her gear bag in time for most of the guys to envelop her in a group hug, congratulating her on the win and goal. 

 

Clarke allows them to suffocate her for as long as she can stand before moving away, catching sight of Lexa standing off to the side, smiling almost shyly in her direction.

 

“You’re a stud, Griffin,” says Bellamy, clapping her on the back. “We screamed ourselves hoarse when you scored.”

 

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure everyone within a ten mile radius heard you,” replies Clarke drily, slowly making her way over to Lexa to stand on her other side. She drops her voice to a murmur so that only Lexa hears her, “So I guess you and Lexa have that in common.”

 

Lexa rolls her eyes, but doesn’t back away when Clarke leans in to kiss her, slow and deep, surprising them both—but neither of them moves to stop. It isn’t until someone clears their throat that they think to remember where they are.

 

“I, for one, am  _ uncomfortably _ turned on.”

 

“Shut up, Murphy,” snaps Clarke, ignoring the flash of heat that warms her cheeks. “Raven and O should be out here soon.”

 

“Are they gonna make out in front of us too?” asks Murphy, suddenly interested in their arrival.

 

“Dude, gross,” Bellamy mutters, “That’s my  _ sister _ .”

 

Clarke throws him a knowing look about Raven, which he plainly ignores.

 

“I don’t have a problem with it,” says Lincoln, grinning when Bellamy glowers at him. “I’m kidding. Obviously.” He coughs lightly.

 

“Oh hey, there they are,” Monty says then, gesturing to where Raven and Octavia are approaching in the background.

 

Clarke turns her attention to Lexa again, fully appreciating the sight of her wearing the jersey. She’d seen the picture Lexa had sent earlier (maybe she’d even saved it, okay), but it was another thing to see it in person, clinging to Lexa’s lithe body. It’s then that she notices the face paint too and she laughs a little, reaching up to smudge it across Lexa’s cheek down to her jawline.

 

“How’d they get you to do this?” Clarke asks, fondness coloring her voice even as she means to tease. 

 

“I didn’t have a  _ choice, _ ” replies Lexa, dodging Clarke’s repeated attempts to keep smudging the paint. “Stop smearing Monty’s masterpiece.”

 

“I’m just trying to help get it off.”

 

“By rubbing the paint all over my face instead?”

 

“Have they been flirting like this the whole time?” Octavia’s voice brings their attention back to the rest of the group. Truthfully, Clarke hadn’t even noticed that she and Raven had finally reached their group.

 

Clarke sees Murphy, Lincoln, Bellamy, and Jasper all nod in response to Octavia’s question and makes sure to file away the names for revenge later on in the night. She changes the subject, asking, “ _ Anyway _ , where’s the celebration happening?”

 

“That’s the important question,” says Raven, dropping the strap of her bag onto Bellamy’s shoulder, who grunts from the sudden effort. “Winners deserve food and alcohol.”

 

“We already got the party started with keg stands at the tailgate,” Lincoln says, draping an arm over Octavia’s shoulder and then pointing to Lexa. “Miller has a video of Lexa putting us all to shame.”

 

Clarke is surprised to hear that, but it also explains why Lexa looks like she’s two beers away from falling over. She nudges Lexa with her shoulder, brows raised. “Is that true?”

 

Lexa nods proudly, eyes glassy and wide. “Yeah, it was actually kind of embarrassing.”

 

“Hey now, let’s not be that dramatic,” says Bellamy defensively as he readjusts Raven’s bag on his other shoulder.

 

“No, it was pretty embarrassing,” says Monty, “Miller really does have that video.”

 

Clarke watches as they all start talking amongst themselves, debating on whether or not Lexa was that much better (she was), and something in her feels warm and satisfied at how comfortable Lexa seems. Truthfully, she was slightly worried when she’d extended the invitation to Lexa, but it really did seem like she had enjoyed herself so far. Soon enough, Clarke feels fingers threading themselves through hers, gently grasping, and she looks over to see that Lexa had seemingly done it without realizing. She tugs, smiling when Lexa looks down at their joined hands and then catches her eye.

 

“Good job out there,” she says sincerely, still holding Clarke’s gaze. 

 

Clarke chuckles at that, because Lexa was probably bored to tears the whole time—or maybe not since she’d apparently partaken in the keg stand ritual. “You had no idea what was going on, did you?”

 

Lexa laughs and shakes her head no. “I knew when you scored, but that’s about it. Honestly, my vision was kinda swimming the entire time too.”

 

“Amateur,” says Clarke, but it comes out tinged with affection.  _ Just like everything else lately,  _ she thinks.  She ignores the recurring thought and kisses Lexa’s un-painted cheek, ducking her face quickly afterward to hide her smile.

 

“Disgusting,” Raven states after witnessing the exchange. “Let’s get out of here before these two make me lose my appetite.”

 

The rest of the group agrees and Clarke flips them all off, exasperated. She almost protests when Lexa removes her hand, but then she watches as Lexa reaches down to grab Clarke’s gear bag, slinging it over her shoulder with relative ease. After that, she takes hold of Clarke’s hand again wordlessly, guiding them to follow the rest of their friends as they make their way to the exit. Clarke isn’t sure when they became the kind of people who held hands just because (and in front of their friends, no less), but she finds herself liking it too much to say anything about it. They can have this one night, she figures, even if this isn’t what she’s used to.

 

She refuses to acknowledge the voice in the back of her mind that tells her there’s a  _ reason  _ she isn’t used to this.  _ Not now,  _ Clarke tells herself, resolving to deal with it later instead.  _ Tonight is for celebrating. _

 

* * *

 

Dinner ended up being a raucous shit-show, as expected when it came with a group that size. Lexa was content to lay low in the background, enjoying the last of her fading buzz while watching Clarke’s spirited interactions with her friends. They had all decided they were too tired to continue the celebration elsewhere and so they split up in all sorts of directions after they said their goodbyes. Lexa hadn’t known whether or not Clarke would be coming home with her, but she’d gotten her answer when Clarke wordlessly took her keys and led them to the car. 

 

Now, Lexa is lying down in bed, waiting for Clarke to finish up in her shower. Her brain and muscles felt sluggish and languid after a night of drinking and eating, and she wasn’t too sure how long she’d be able to last tonight with Clarke. She’s fighting off sleep when she finally hears the door creak open, the steam from the shower filling their surroundings with the scent of Clarke’s shampoo. She listens as Clarke moves around the room for another minute, presumably getting comfortable before joining Lexa.

 

Lexa feels the bed dip with Clarke’s weight before she crawls over to her, wasting no time in straddling Lexa’s hips and leaning down to kiss her. She misses in the dark and lands her mouth on Lexa’s eye instead, making them both laugh quietly. Lexa reaches up to guide her face properly, closing her teeth carefully around Clarke’s bottom lip, gently tugging on the flesh. Clarke lets out a low groan of approval, and Lexa resolves to commit the sound to memory as best as she can. Clarke drops a hand down to Lexa’s collarbone, absently tracing the skin there with cold fingertips while they continue kissing.

 

Lexa moves her hands down to Clarke’s back, bringing her in close for a sort of hug without even realizing it, without fully meaning to. Clarke breaks their kiss then, moving back just enough so that she can study Lexa’s expression in the darkness. She looks  _ nervous _ , for some reason Lexa can’t seem to figure out.

 

“Is it okay if—I mean…” Clarke starts, but then trails off. 

 

Lexa furrows her brow, brushing a loose strand of hair out of Clarke’s eyes. “Hey, what is it? Everything okay?”

 

Clarke bites her lip, looking like she’s debating whether or not she wants to voice whatever it is she’s thinking about. After a moment of silent deliberation, she says in a rush, “Is it okay if we just sleep? It’s just—I’m really sore and tired, and I don’t even know if I’ll be any  _ good _ —”

 

“Easy there,” Lexa interrupts, leaning up to kiss the worry from Clarke’s mouth. “We can sleep. I’m about to pass out anyway.”

 

Clarke looks relieved as she kisses Lexa again, lingering, as if she was trying to properly convey her gratitude. She then moves off and to the side of Lexa, nosing her way into the crook of her neck and throwing a leg carelessly over her hips. Lexa readjusts herself, bringing an arm up around Clarke’s shoulders and her other hand to stroke over the soft skin of her thigh. She shivers when she feels Clarke dot her neck with wet, gentle kisses, one of her hands resting comfortably on her bare hip.

 

“Night, Lex,” Clarke mumbles, voice already rough with sleep.

 

Lexa hums in response, eyelids drooping shut, and the last thing she remembers thinking is,  _ I could get used to this. _


	4. part four: act i.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, hello again! as always, thanks so much for your endless support. i'm sorry that the wait in between chapters is so long, but it's important to me that i never push myself too hard. also real life always gets in the way, etc. i hope you guys enjoy this chapter; it's the longest yet. i had to add a second half to it lol anyway i'm stoked to hear your feedback, guys! i can be reached at the same tumblr url for a more direct line of communication but i usually get around to comments on here as well. again, thanks so much! xx
> 
> (as always, special shoutout to firetestsgold for being the best person to bounce ideas off of and for always reading over the constantly changing material)
> 
> oh! there's also a meta-ish reference to a fic in there; let me know in the comments if you guys catch it ;)

When Lexa wakes, her first instinct is to pull the warm body pressed to her front even closer, her fingertips immediately seeking out the gentle dips and curves she craves even in her sleep.

 

She shifts her left hand first, dragging it down beneath the tangled covers to trace along the smooth curve of Clarke’s exposed hip, her mind slowly waking up with the daylight peeking in through the cracked blinds. She listens to Clarke mumble a little in her sleep, nestling her backside further into the cradle of Lexa’s pelvis and nudging her face deeper into the pillow. Lexa blinks herself more awake, Clarke’s still-sleeping profile coming into better focus in front of her. Her hair is messy and wayward after a full night's sleep, the amber glow of sunlight illuminating the fine downy hairs that cover the gentle slope of her shoulder, and Lexa can't resist leaning in to trail a gentle flutter of kisses everywhere her mouth can reach. Her lips are a little dry, but Clarke is easily the best thing she’s ever woken up to, and the only urge she can follow at all right now is to be closer to her.

 

Clarke begins to stir awake by the time she reaches the sensitive spot behind her neck and ear, and guilt trickles into Lexa for a split second before she catches the corner of Clarke's mouth curl into a sleepy smile. She can’t help but take a snapshot of it in her mind and tuck it away for the days when she’ll wake up without it.

 

“Why are we awake right now?” murmurs Clarke, her voice rough and low with morning. She blindly reaches back to touch her hand to the side of Lexa’s neck, squeezing affectionately. _Good morning_.

 

Lexa revels in the surge of tenderness that pools warmly in her chest and folds her hand over Clarke's briefly, her own way of saying it in return. She trails her fingertips down to Clarke's stomach next, always drawn to the feeling of her steady breathing beneath her palm, and slowly strokes her thumb over in meaningless shapes. Clarke will only be awake for another minute anyway if she keeps soothing her like this—she first discovered that little trick the fourth time they slept together and she absentmindedly traced the tiniest triangles in the dip of Clarke’s collarbone only to find her fast asleep in under a minute. Lexa remembers being just as taken with her then, too.

 

“Sorry,” Lexa whispers back, switching her patterns to tracing a line from hip to hip, resisting the urge to go lower, “Go back to sleep.”

 

“You okay?” Clarke manages to mumble out, even as Lexa can see her already drifting back to sleep. “I can stay up...maybe?”

 

“I'm okay,” Lexa assures with a soft smile, nipping at the skin between Clarke's neck and shoulder, “You just woke me up with your snoring.”

 

“Mmm, fuck you—I don't snore…” Clarke is fast asleep again by the time her sentence trails off, her breathing quickly evening out into a rhythm that Lexa finds comforting.

 

She listens to the sounds of Clarke just _existing_ for a couple of moments, her mind swimming pleasantly with the warm glow of waking up together. The back of Clarke’s neck is soft and inviting when Lexa leans forward to press one last, lingering kiss there. The drowsiness is starting to leave her, replaced by the ever present urge to start her daily routine—still, there’s no doubt in her mind that this early morning version of Clarke, unguarded and soft, will stay with her.

 

But as the haze of her sleepiness begins to dissipate, the reality of the situation begins to bear in, weighty and unexpected on her mind. _What does this mean to her? Does this even mean anything? Do all friends with benefits do stuff like this?_ Lexa can’t help the onslaught of thoughts buzzing around in her mind, unbidden. She doesn’t _think_ she regrets letting Clarke sleep over, but it is disorienting to wake up next to someone when she hasn't shared her space (or much of herself) in so long. What had surprised her most was how easily she’d slipped into it—like waking up with Clarke was something she did every day—and how easily she could see herself doing it again...and she was certain it was that that had caused the panic currently spiking and swelling in her chest, prickling hotly until she can no longer ignore it.

 

Carefully, she disentangles herself from Clarke’s body with the least amount of movement possible, not wanting to disrupt her sleep for a second time. She takes a moment to tuck a strand of hair behind Clarke’s ear, gently smoothing her thumb over the worried crease in her brow. Clarke's hand spreads over the spot where Lexa had just been and she entertains the thought of staying before squashing the urge and swinging her legs over the mattress.

 

She throws on some old sweats and a t-shirt (which she soon realizes might actually be Clarke’s, and _that_ doesn't help), making her way over to the bathroom as quickly and quietly as she can manage. The wooden floor is cold against her bare feet and her skin immediately goosebumps in the open air, but it's a welcome contrast to the churning in her stomach. Once inside the bathroom, she splashes some water onto her face and leans against the sink for long moments afterward, letting her eyes fall shut as she focuses on the sensation of the cool droplets sliding down her neck. It helps a little, having something to distract from this restless, trapped feeling itching beneath her skin.

 

When she had extended the invitation to just sleep, Lexa hadn’t expected that it would make her feel differently about Clarke than having sex with her did. But she had to admit there was a distinct intimacy in sharing the first few minutes of the day together, and in seeing each other as no one else did. It's obvious to her now that she's thinking about it and some small part of her also recognizes that she and Clarke had likely already crossed the line into something tangible anyway, but it does nothing to help the urge she still feels to slip out of her own home undetected.

 

“Calm down,” Lexa mutters herself, gaze flicking up to the mirror. She grimaces at the unsettled, anxious look in her eye. She couldn't be more obvious if she had the words **I WANT TO RUN** stamped in red across her fucking forehead. “It’s _one_ night.”

 

 _But it doesn’t stop at just this one night, does it?_ , Lexa wonders. No—she can't deny that Clarke is steadily becoming a lasting fixture in her life, and has been since they had agreed to this whole thing weeks ago. As much as Lexa prides herself in thinking situations through, in turning over every variable in her mind before coming to a decision she's satisfied with, Clarke had snuck past all of it. She fell into Lexa’s life unexpectedly but seamlessly, on an ordinary night, like she was always meant to find her way there eventually. And now...despite the constant reminders to herself about why a relationship could only end in disaster, she's waking up with her and making time for her wherever she can. It's like she never really learned from the whole mess with Costia, like she's already forgotten the months of sleepless heartbreak afterward.

 

“Lex? You in there?”

 

The unexpected sound of Clarke’s voice coming from the other side of the door startles Lexa and she flinches away from the sink, almost knocking over her make-up bag in the process. She grabs a clean hand towel and pats her face dry, breathing heavily into it for a moment afterward to calm her nerves.

 

“Yeah, I’m here,” Lexa eventually calls back, moving to rest her forehead against the door and sighing. “You’re supposed to be asleep.”

 

Lexa hears Clarke snort and shuffle around on the other side. “Mm, I _was_ asleep—rather peacefully, actually—until you interrupted me by running away to the bathroom to panic.”

 

Lexa freezes at that, not even daring to let out a breath. Clarke lets out a raspy chuckle, no doubt at her awkward silence.

 

“Lexa, I promise you it’s _fine_. All we did was share a bed,” Clarke continues, her tone light and encouraging, “which we've already done, technically, on multiple occasions. It doesn’t have to be anything more than that.”

 

The wave of relief that washes over Lexa at Clarke's simple, sweet reassurance overrides the nagging in the back of her mind that says it already is more. It's as if Clarke somehow had a direct line into Lexa’s thoughts and knew exactly what she needed to hear to bring her out of the paralyzing thoughts of being someone else's anything. Already, the knot in her chest is dissolving, as if Clarke had simply reached into her heart and gently tugged it loose.

 

“Can you open the door?” Clarke asks after another minute of waiting.

 

Lexa nods—which is more to convince herself because it’s not like Clarke can see—and takes a deep, steadying breath before turning the lock. Clarke must be able to hear it click because she cautiously opens the door a second later, peeking her head into the bathroom. She has Lexa’s comforter wrapped around her bare shoulders, a bit of dried saliva at the corner of her mouth. Lexa can’t help the little half-smile creeping onto her face at the sight and she reaches forward to rub her thumb over it, swiping until it comes off completely.

 

“Drool,” is Lexa’s simple answer to Clarke’s questioning look.

 

Clarke laughs, loud and bright, the life of it filling the bathroom, ebbing away the last of Lexa's anxiety. “God, I’m sexy. No wonder you wanted to wake up to this.”

 

And just like that, everything snaps back to normal again, as if Lexa hadn’t overthought everything and fled from her own bed in the first place, and she doesn’t hesitate to tug on the comforter until Clarke gets the hint and draws close to her. Her eyes are are still clouded with drowsiness, a slight ring of red surrounding the irises, and guilt instantly creeps into Lexa's gut for having ruined an otherwise perfect start to the day.

 

Lexa brings her hand up to card it through Clarke’s soft waves, brushing a few loose strands away from her face and keeping her hand cupped gently to base of her skull. She forces herself to let their eyes meet even as her stomach bottoms out from the connection. There are too many words about her feelings bubbling up in her throat—things that she isn't sure _either_ of them are ready to hear—so instead Lexa settles for a quiet, murmured, “Thank you.”

 

Clarke visibly softens anyway and leans into Lexa’s hands, tipping her head to kiss the center of her palm. She’s looking at Lexa with so much understanding and _kindness_ in her eyes that she almost can’t stand it, almost has to look away for fear of showing all her cards too soon. They’ve been sleeping together for weeks, but somehow this thing between them is only just blossoming.

 

“You’re welcome. At least one of us has to keep it together.”

 

Lexa rolls her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips as she slides her hands into the comforter to wrap her arms around Clarke’s naked waist. She drops her head into the crook of her neck and mumbles, “And thanks for not making me talk about it.”

 

“We don’t have to talk about anything until both of us want to, yeah?” Clarke’s eyes are earnest when Lexa looks back up at her, searching her face for any other signs of discomfort. “But if anything is ever too much for you, all you have to do is tell me. No exceptions, alright?”

 

The rush of affection that floods her chest shouldn't come as a surprise, but it does and it’s powerful enough that Lexa’s voice cracks a little with it when she speaks. “Yeah, okay.”

 

Clarke doesn’t say anything more to that, but Lexa can feel a hand come up to cup the back of her neck, drawing her back into a closer embrace, and in doing so, Clarke wraps the comforter around the both of them. For once, Lexa allows herself to take the comfort without being afraid of what it could mean, or whether she’ll be able to offer it in return someday. Something in Lexa shifts into place, like a gentle, encouraging nudge, and it strikes her that she _wants_ with this intimacy and closeness—that deep down, she's safe in the knowledge that Clarke would never purposely hurt her. There's a voice in her head that reminds her annoyingly of her own that's telling her this might all come around to bite her in the ass, but she can’t help it; Clarke’s touch and presence are pacifying her with gentle ease.

 

They stay that way for what must be several minutes until Lexa finally pulls back a little, just enough to press a kiss to Clarke’s lips, slow and delicate. She lingers, taking her greedy fill of the quiet joy that always comes with kissing Clarke, the same one she normally avoids. It's another small victory for them, and Lexa smiles into their kiss when she finds she really doesn't mind how much of her Clarke has already conquered. Maybe someday she might even work past the burn in her throat and tell Clarke some of these things. _Not today, though._

 

When they move apart, Lexa plants a firm kiss on Clarke’s cheek and asks, “So, what’s on the agenda for today?”

 

Clarke groans loudly at the question, throwing Lexa a look of despair. “Studying, like always, and then some strength conditioning later with the team. You got any plans?”

 

“Just homework and prep work for the classroom. The usual,” answers Lexa, dropping another kiss to Clarke’s forehead before disentangling their bodies so that they can move out of the bathroom. “What time do you need to take off?”

 

Clarke shrugs, considering the question for a moment. “Like another hour or two, maybe? I think it’s still early.”

 

Lexa quirks a brow and smirks at her, mind already drifting to all the ways she intends to use up that precious time. “Perfect. That’s plenty of time to _properly_ thank you.”

 

“Oh, _fuck yes_ ,” exclaims Clarke victoriously, even pumping a fist in the air. “Who knew not being an asshole had such a big payoff.”

 

“You should try it more often then,” Lexa replies drolly, even as she lets Clarke lead her down the hall and back into the bedroom.

 

When they fall back into the bed, a laughing tangle of tired limbs and lazy kisses, Lexa can barely remember having any reason to panic at all.

 

* * *

 

“So listen, I have an idea—” Octavia starts, confidently marching into their kitchen without preamble.

 

“Absolutely not.” Clarke doesn't even bother to look up, continuing her steady reading of this week’s assigned chapter for Biology lab.

 

“You haven't even heard what it is!” Octavia says indignantly, plopping down onto the seat in front of Clarke’s. “You could be turning down the time of your life, for all you know.”

 

Clarke’s eyes finally shift away from her textbook to cast a withering glare in Octavia’s direction. “And when have any of your ideas resulted in good things for me? And don't say the night of the bar crawl—that doesn't count and I still haven't recovered my pride from it.”

 

Octavia scoffs in disbelief, lifting up a hand to start ticking off her imaginary list. “That was one of our best memories, but sure, whatever. Anyway, what about that time we snuck out of our hotel during last year’s tournament to get a bottle of vodka and streaked through the golf course? That was a _great_ night.”

 

Clarke just stares incredulously at her in return. “Octavia.”

 

“What?” Octavia replies blankly, as if Clarke's reaction didn't make any sense.

 

“We almost got arrested that night. I had alcohol poisoning the next day.” Clarke narrows her eyes, trying to discern whether or not Octavia is actually fucking with her. It's always entirely possible she is.

 

Octavia looks as though she genuinely doesn't believe Clarke, her brow furrowed. “Okay, I actually remember that completely differently.”

 

“You probably don't remember it at all!” Clarke says, exasperated. She glances up at the clock, checking to see how long they both have until practice. “Look, just spit it out—because I know you're not gonna let this go and we have to be at the gym in less than an hour. What do you want from me?”

 

Octavia grins, all pearly teeth and shining eyes, and damn it, she's cute. _Point taken, Blake,_ Clarke thinks to herself, _But I'm no fool._

 

“Lincoln and I were hoping that you and Lexa should join us at the bar by his place on Thursday. They're doing a trivia night and he had the fucking _nerve_ to say he and Lexa could beat me and you, so I swore to prove him wrong,” Octavia tells her in a rush, her tone and expression both hopeful. “It’ll be fun, I promise—just beer and a little healthy competition.”

 

 _That_ certainly wasn't what Clarke had been expecting her to ask. It wasn't a problem, in theory—and Clarke probably wouldn't have had a second thought about saying yes, any other day. Any other day that she didn't start off by reassuring Lexa that they weren't the kind of people who slept together because they _liked_ each other, let alone went on dates together. _Well, fuck._

 

Clarke opens and closes her mouth, struggling to come up a believable excuse in time. Octavia knew her school and soccer schedule too well to try and make up something about that, so Clarke nixed that idea first. Anything related to Lexa would just turn into (valid) questions about why they couldn't just change their plans for a fun night out with their best friends.

 

“I don’t know,” Clarke finally answers, avoiding meeting Octavia’s ensuing confused look. “Lexa’s probably gonna be busy and I’m not sure if it’d be weird to hang out with just another couple.”

 

“Uh, do you realize that you just technically referred to yourselves as a couple?” Octavia supplies plainly, smirking in satisfaction at the furious blush that instantly spreads across Clarke’s cheeks at being called out. “She was just at our game last night so obviously she doesn’t have a problem with hanging out with your friends. Plus, she and Lincoln are really close so it’s not as if we’re just going on a double date or something. Just think about it as four friends hanging out. Who cares if some of us happen to regularly sleep together?”

 

She pauses, a contemplative look on her face. “How's that any different from our normal friends group, anyway?”

 

At Clarke’s still dubious expression, Octavia finally pulls out the classic Blake pout, complete with wide, begging eyes. It’s not nearly as effective when Bellamy does it, Clarke notes.

 

“Why can’t we just make it me and Raven?” Clarke suggests instead, figuring it’s an easy solution that would please all of them. “She wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to try and beat us at something.”

 

“I remember her saying she was gonna be busy this Thursday the last time we had lunch together. C’mon, just ask Lexa! It can’t hurt,” insists Octavia, still staring pleadingly at Clarke.

 

 _Except it might if she says no._ The thought crosses her mind before she can stop it and Clarke is almost dizzy with the realizations it sparks. It's the first time she’s had to really consider the possibility of Lexa rejecting her and she can't exactly say she's fully surprised by how even just the idea of it shoots a hollow pang into her stomach. After last night and this morning, Clarke isn't sure what to expect from Lexa—but it would be flat out denial to say that they aren't growing closer in spite of it.

 

She can _feel_ it. As much as she and Lexa both make excuses all day long for what they are to each other, there's a telling undercurrent of affection and a pleasant tension that lines their every moment together. It's something more than the pure attraction it started out as—it's grown into lingering touches and looks outside of the bedroom, as if Lexa can't get enough of her just within those walls anymore. Lexa spends a lot of time laughing at and with her, but she also brings her sandwiches when she's been studying for hours without a break and wears Clarke's jersey to her soccer games. She picks up the tab more often than not, sneaking it from Clarke before she registers that it's been brought out and only offering a shy smile when Clarke thanks her.

 

Although she told Lexa this morning that spending the night together didn't have to mean anything and she meant it, Clarke also knew that that singular instance didn't automatically invalidate everything else they'd experienced so far. She had a reasonable suspicion that Lexa felt the same way—if the way she'd clung to Clarke for comfort this morning was any indication, at least.

 

“I don’t really know where we stand with stuff like that right now,” Clarke mumbles. A sharp glint flashes in Octavia’s eye and Clarke looks at her warningly as she continues, “Calm down, we’re fine. The last thing I need is for you and Raven to gang up on Lexa like a pack of hyenas.”

 

“First of all, you could've at least compared us to something cool like tigers or lions, asshole. Second, why are you acting so weird about it then?” Octavia eyes her expectantly now, arms crossed over the table and eyebrow arched smartly. “You were all gross and couple-y last night. What changed since then?”

 

Clarke picks at the corner of her Bio textbook, debating whether or not she wants to talk about this morning with Lexa. Talking about things tends to make them realer for her, and so does talking about them with one of her best friends. It means there are things—feelings—there for her to talk about. _Fuck it, maybe she can help_ , she eventually decides.

 

“So we didn't have sex last night,” Clarke begins, dumbly.

 

“Uh, good for you?” Octavia remarks dryly. “I’m glad you’ve both evolved past your base urges.”

 

“I'm not done,” Clarke snaps, reaching over the table to pinch Octavia’s wrist. Satisfied with her yelp of pain, Clarke leans back and wrings her hands in her lap. “All we did was sleep. Then we woke up together and it was actually...nice. We _cuddled._ ”

 

“What's the big deal then?” Octavia asks, her expression shifting into one of exasperation. “Sounds like exactly the kind of gay thing you and Lexa would do.”

 

Clarke glares at her, but ignores the comment and elaborates on her predicament. “Anyway, she kind of freaked out about it. I mean, I had to reassure her that it didn't have to mean anything. So, yeah...I’m not sure if it would be a good idea to pitch a double date right now.”

 

Saying it out loud makes it come across as worse than it actually transpired, Clarke decides. They hadn't ended on a bad note—quite the opposite. She'd spent almost all morning in Lexa's bedroom afterward—her fists white-knuckled into the sheets, body curving and melting to Lexa's will and mouth. Even just the brief memory of it makes her want to text Lexa and convince her they should both take the night off later and put a sizable dent in their Netflix queue instead.

 

Octavia, for her part, looks like she's deliberating on what to say, as if she wants to approach the situation carefully. Clarke is usually struck with a deep gratitude for her in moments like these—and for Raven, who isn't here but who she knows would try to help. It’s also almost always right after they finish laughing at her that they help, but the sentiment remains.

 

“I still believe it would be okay,” Octavia says, shrugging. When Clarke opens her mouth to protest again, she continues, “Wait, just listen—listen to me!”

 

She pauses again to make sure she has Clarke's full attention. Clarke rolls her eyes and sarcastically offers her the dirty kitchen floor.

 

Octavia flips her off, but she looks at Clarke seriously and says, “I think you're really underestimating how much Lexa likes you if you actually think you need to do anything other than _ask,_ for her to do something for you.”

 

It washes over Clarke like a gentle wave, hearing how Lexa might feel about her. The sensation it blooms in her pulls a nostalgic smile from her lips—it’s like being on the beach with her dad again, his laughter ringing in her ears every time the tide swept her across the sand right before he'd scoop her back up, holding her safely against his strong chest. It’s a feeling she can only remember having a handful of times since he’d died, and she doesn’t know what to think about the fact that Lexa is the cause of it—Lexa and her possible feelings _for Clarke_. Just the thought is enough to make her stomach flip pleasantly and at this rate, Clarke isn’t sure she would ever survive a verbal confirmation from Lexa herself. _Not that Lexa’s eager to say it anyway._

 

“I just don’t want to push her too hard,” Clarke ends up saying, deflecting from any further conversation about what either of she or Lexa might feel for each other. “And like I said, a poorly disguised _double date_ might fall under that category.”

 

She’s only started to accept that her feelings are a reality—she wants to keep them just for herself a little while longer, to savor the way her body hums at the mere thought of Lexa—before she starts to wonder what the hell she’s going to do when they’re directed at a girl who probably wouldn’t know what to do with them.

 

“I get that,” replies Octavia, sitting back in her chair. “I do. But it’d be worth a try to ask and I _really_ don’t want to listen to Lincoln bragging for a solid week if I have to forfeit. Tell you what—I’ll stop bugging you and give you till later tonight to give me a final answer, whether you decide to ask Lexa or not. Deal?”

 

“Alright,” Clarke eventually gives in. Deciding she might as well get it over with rather than dread it all day long, she grabs her phone from where she’d shoved it underneath her backpack.

 

Maybe Octavia was right—it couldn’t hurt that much to ask and even if Lexa did say no, well...Clarke couldn’t exactly find it within herself to really be _that_ upset with the possibility, after all, when she honestly did want to respect the side of Lexa that wasn't quite ready. Clarke wanted her to say yes, sure, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world.

 

“Just like, make sure to campaign super hard for this,” Octavia says, grinning widely. “Send her some nudes.”

 

Clarke lets out a short laugh as she pulls up a new iMessage. “Yeah, right. She would choke. I flashed her in the car last night and she forgot how to drive.”

 

“I don’t think I’m allowed to judge. I’ve seen your tits and I absolutely agree that they’re traffic jam and car accident-worthy,” Octavia comments.

 

Clarke only made a hum of approval in response, too busy trying to think of the best way to ask Lexa something so simple and so complicated. In the end, she decides to keep it casual and light-hearted—something she and Lexa can always do, at least _._

 

 _O invited us to trivia night at a bar on Thurs._  
_Me & her against u & Lincoln.  
__U feel like losing lately?_

 

“Well,” she says after she hits send, “Now we wait.”

 

And even if Clarke didn't already know about her feelings, the nervousness that instantly pools in her gut would've told her.

 

* * *

 

Her first thought is that it’s fucking _hot_ inside the bar, but Lexa figures it’s because the space is small and dingy, crammed to capacity with college students who probably all found their way there after hearing that the security guard doesn’t card. The red and gold accent paint is chipping everywhere, the wood panelling barely holding up from time and too many frat boys, and there’s a tiny bar that hardly covers the length of a wall—if Lexa squints hard enough through the dirty window next to it, she thinks she can make out badly-peeling lettering that reads _The Captain’s Room._ Huh. The name rings vaguely familiar to her, but Lexa can’t quite point her finger on where she's heard it.

 

It looks like a weird bar to host a trivia night anyway, and Lexa says as much. “I’m supposed to believe this place has a successful trivia night?”

 

Clarke laughs, threading her fingers through Lexa’s and expertly weaving them through the thick of the crowd towards the back area by the pool table, where Octavia had told them to meet up. “I know it looks sketchy. I’m pretty sure O and Raven have been by for it before, though, so we’re safe.”

 

Lexa lets her thumb stroke over the back of Clarke’s palm, gratified when Clarke clasps her hand more tightly. “If you say so...”

 

She catches more than one pair of seedy eyes in the crowd studying Clarke's generous curves a little too closely for her liking and adds, “But you owe me big time if I have to knock someone out to defend your honor.”

 

Clarke audibly snorts. “Thanks, but I'm pretty sure you’d be the one getting knocked out, stringbean.”

 

“You’re rude,” Lexa mutters, looking past her to see Lincoln and Octavia talking a few feet in front of them. “But I’ll get you back, you’ll see.”

 

“Yeah, whatever, tell that to me when you’re losing to me in front of everyone,” Clarke retorts, turning her attention to their friends as they approach.

 

Lexa catches Octavia’s gaze flick down to hers and Clarke’s linked hands, a slow smile spreading across her face. Lexa doesn’t have time to question it or be nervous about what it means because Lincoln wraps them up in a hug as soon as he spots them, barely struggling to reach around both of their bodies.

 

“ _Ow_ ,” Lexa says loudly into his ear, her side pressed tightly to Clarke’s and her front smushed against his chest, “You know words are always an option to greet people. I feel like we have this conversation every time.”

 

“But then you wouldn’t get to feel my rock-hard pecs and wouldn’t that be a total shame?” Lincoln replies easily as he releases them and then reaches over to muss up Lexa’s hair. “I’m glad you made it. Octavia thinks that they can beat us, but they haven’t seen how we trivia, Lex.”

 

Lexa scowls at him as she reaches a hand up to run it through her hair and tame it again, but she can’t exactly talk shit to him when they’re on the same team. Besides, he’s right—Clarke and Ocatvia _don’t_ know what’s coming to them. She and Lincoln have a long-standing tradition of beer and Trivial Pursuit, and though they haven’t been able to get together as frequently as they have in the past lately, it’s a tradition that has armed her with a lifelong arsenal of useless facts.

 

Octavia throws a downright impressive roll of her eyes in his direction. “I can’t believe you just used that as a verb, wow.” Then, to Lexa and Clarke, “Anyway, we entered our teams into the competition before you guys got here. On the very small chance that neither of us wins the whole thing, we can just count the winner as whoever gets to the farthest round. Sound fair?”

 

“Perfect,” replies Clarke, turning to Lexa with a smug grin. “The moment of truth is coming up. Do you want me to get you a drink before we start? Might help you feel better to nurse a beer while we kick your asses.”

 

Lexa can’t help but kiss the smirk off her face, only a little self-conscious at Octavia and Lincoln’s presence. She leans back and smiles at the slightly dazed expression on Clarke’s face, her own mind dizzy with how nice it is to be able to do this. She was initially hesitant about the invitation—worried that she'd ruin it the way she ruined the other morning—but Clarke had asked and Lexa couldn't say no, didn't _want_ to say no. And she was glad she didn't because she felt comfortable and without reservations now that they were here. The Captain’s Room is kind of a shithole, sure, but Lexa was mostly caught up in the feeling of being here with friends, being able to hold Clarke’s hand and enjoying a night out together.

 

That all doesn’t mean she can’t return some of Clarke’s teasing, though.

 

“Oh, please, if that’s all it took to distract you, Lincoln and I have this in the bag,” Lexa laughs at the mock betrayal that flits across Clarke’s face, “Easy.”

 

Clarke snatches her hand away from Lexa’s, crossing her arms over her chest and scowling. “I can’t believe I just got played like that. Who do you think you are, again?”

 

Lexa’s still chuckling when she reaches to wrap her arms around Clarke’s waist, only holding on tighter when Clarke pettily struggles against it. She keeps her close, murmuring in her ear, “So you can talk shit, but it’s off-limits for me? How’s that fair?”

 

“I’m gonna hit you,” Clarke replies warningly instead, but it's an empty threat, her words belied by the way she stops struggling and leans into Lexa instead. Her eyes flick down to Lexa’s lips before she lands a short peck there, grumbling, “This doesn’t mean we aren’t at war.”

 

“If you guys are done being disgusting now,” Octavia loudly interrupts then, grabbing their attention to point them in the direction of the bar, “Does that not look _exactly_ like the back of Bellamy’s head?”

 

Lexa, Clarke, and Lincoln all follow the path her finger makes to a guy with a mop of dark hair and broad shoulders seated at the end of the bar, his face obscured by the shitty lighting and the way he leans in to order from the bartender. But there's no confirming if it's him from this angle unless he turns completely to the side and gives them a clearer view of his profile.

 

“It really does,” Lincoln agrees. As soon as the words leave his mouth, Octavia stalks off in the stranger's direction, her intent clear. Lincoln sighs, staring at Octavia's retreating back with a mixture of disbelief and utter fondness. “Uh, alright. I guess we’re gonna go find out then.”

 

Lexa slides her palm down the warm skin of Clarke’s arm to find her hand, biting back a smile at the way Clarke automatically links their fingers together again seemingly without a second thought. They follow Lincoln and Octavia over to the bar, both of them watching as Octavia arrives first. She marches right up behind the stranger and taps his shoulder confidently, as if there was no possibility that it _couldn’t_ be Bellamy. And there isn’t—Lexa sees the man turns and sure enough, it’s him.

 

Surprise is obvious on Bellamy’s features when he spots Octavia, followed quickly by what Lexa can only describe as unadulterated panic. 

 

“Hey! What are you two doing here?” Bellamy asks Octavia in a strangled voice when they approach. When he spots Clarke and Lexa behind Lincoln and Octavia, he looks even more panicked, his eyes flitting nervously between all of them. “Oh, hi—Sorry, didn't realize this was a group outing, but that's cool! It's great that you're all here. Just—so _great_...”

 

Clarke is regarding him with a look that waffles between amused and mildly suspicious, though Lexa can't say she knows why. Bellamy studiously ignores Clarke's rapt attention for the most part, like he's afraid he'll give something away if he looks at her.

 

"Yeah, isn't it awesome? What are the odds, right?" Clarke presses her lips together in a poor attempt to hold back the laughter threatening to bubble forth. "All of us here, on a random Thursday night..."

 

“Who are you here with?” Octavia interrupts, eyeing Bellamy curiously as well. “You don't have any friends.”

 

“You're right,” Bellamy replies, all too easily. “I'm here by myself. Just having quality Me time.”

 

“Is that so?” Clarke chimes in, grinning in a way that Lexa can only describe as someone who knows something they shouldn't.

 

Bellamy throws her an indecipherable look in return but before she can ask Clarke about it, Lincoln claps a hand on Bellamy’s shoulder and excitedly says, “Come to the back area with us! We're about to start trivia night in a few minutes.”

 

The color drains from Bellamy’s face and he visibly gulps. “You're here for _trivia night?_ ”

 

“Why are you acting so weird?” It's Octavia's turn to be suspicious and it only seems to be growing with her brother’s behavior. She steps closer to him, eyeballing him with an unmatched intensity, “Are you hiding something? Who are you really here with? You know I can smell fear, Bellamy.”

 

“No one!” Bellamy repeats, but Lexa doesn’t miss how his eyes are frantically darting around the bar again. “I just felt like grabbing a beer and I came by here. It's the closest bar to where I was at.”

 

“Oh, were you at the gym?” Lincoln winces as soon as he finishes his sentence, courtesy of Octavia elbowing him in the ribs. “ _What?_ It's right by here.”

 

“Yeah, I was,” Bellamy quickly interjects, relief washing over his face before he can disguise it to them. He clears his throat and continues deflecting, "Can't skip leg day, ya know? I'm one missed session away from becoming Slender Man."

 

“You don't look sweaty,” Octavia points out, apparently dogged in her pursuit to prove that Bellamy’s hiding something.

 

“Showered at the gym,” Bellamy simply says, triumphant. Some of the tension drains out of his body, but he’s still too vigilant for someone who insists nothing is off.

 

Octavia still looks unconvinced, but there's not a whole lot she can do to argue now that Bellamy has a plausible excuse. Lexa has been taking in the whole scene with unmasked interest, making a mental note to definitely ask Clarke about it later because she clearly knows exactly what Bellamy is so hellbent on hiding.

 

“I'm gonna take off,” Bellamy announces suddenly, ignoring the way Octavia's immediately eyes narrow at him again. “I'm beat and I already had the beers I wanted. I’ll catch you guys later, alright?”

 

He pulls Octavia into a short hug, but hastily waves goodbye to the rest of them before making his exit. As he’s leaving, Lexa observes the way his and Clarke's eyes meet briefly, but not without purpose. _Interesting._ Clarke notices that Lexa’s caught them, but she just discreetly mouths, _“Later”_ at Lexa's questioning look. She's satisfied with that, as long as she gets an explanation.

 

Bellamy makes a beeline toward the back exit, but Lexa can spot see him bring his phone up to his ear and she's certain he's talking to who he had been here with. He's not very subtle, but Octavia doesn't notice—she's already turned to the bar, an arm curled around Lincoln’s bicep as she orders them a round of drafts.

 

“That could've been a disaster,” Clarke murmurs then, low enough to keep it between them. She drags her hand from Lexa's up to her shoulder, leaning in close.

 

Lexa shifts with her naturally, snaking an arm around her waist, fingertips brushing against a sliver of exposed skin. She arches an eyebrow questioningly but keeps her eyes on Lincoln and Octavia to make sure they aren't paying attention to their conversation. “He wasn't here alone, was he?”

 

“Nope,” Clarke answers, “Definitely not. We can talk more about that later, though.”

 

Lexa drops the subject in favor of leaning in to press her lips to the hollow of Clarke's throat, delighting in Clarke's pleased hum buzzing delicately against her mouth. She kisses the skin softly, content to linger in Clarke's space for a few more moments.

 

“Can you guys stop making out and take your beers?” Octavia holds out two frosty glasses, smirking as they quickly separate at the sound of her voice.

 

Lexa takes both of them, muttering her thanks and ignoring Clarke's questioning look. Clarke doesn't argue though, letting Lexa keep hold of the two glasses while she threads a finger through her belt loop and tugs her back in until their hips nudge together. Lexa smiles softly at her in return, unable to think about or see anything beyond the blue of Clarke's eyes even in the dim lighting. Her entire perspective is narrowed down to Clarke, but she doesn't mind a bit.

 

They enjoy a few more minutes at the bar, drinking steadily to get a nice buzz going before the competition began. It was easy to fill the extra bit of time with shit talk and quiz questions, even if there was no real way to prepare at this point.

 

“We should probably move back to the trivia area,” Lincoln pauses to take another long swig of beer and grin cockily, “Lexa and I have a competition to win.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Octavia brushes him off but leads the way back nonetheless.

 

Lincoln trails behind her and Clarke follows, clearing the way so that Lexa can walk through the crowd without spilling their beers everywhere. They make it back just in time to see the other signed up teams lining up around a tiny makeshift stage that Lexa assumes will serve as the host’s stand. They take their place toward the end of the line, preparing to split up into their teams.

 

Lexa hands Clarke her beer, noting with satisfaction that the frost has sufficiently melted from the glass. “There, now your baby hands can handle the temperature.”

 

Clarke looks at her like she’s caught between being insulted and wanting to kiss her before she goes with the latter. It’s short and sweet, a simple thanks, but Lexa reels from it anyway.

 

“Look at you being cute,” Clarke murmurs, still close enough to see the way Lexa’s cheeks burn. She kisses the tip of her nose and then the corner of her mouth, admitting quietly, “I can’t believe you notice these things about me sometimes.”

 

 _I notice everything about you,_ Lexa thinks but doesn’t say, _every little thing._ She settles for a gentle kiss to Clarke’s forehead, hoping that speaks it for her instead.

 

“Thanks for being here,” Clarke adds then, teeth worrying at her bottom lip when Lexa looks at her. “I was, uh, kind of worried you’d say no.”

 

Lexa’s brow furrows at that, confused at first, but then it clicks—her bathroom freakout. Of course Clarke would be hesitant after that.

 

“I’m still sorry about that,” Lexa sighs, taking a pull of her beer to quell her sudden nerves. She forces herself to keep talking—if only because Clarke deserves to hear anything that’ll ease the worries that have apparently been eating away at her. “It’s just—it’s been awhile since I had this with someone.”

 

Had _what_ , Clarke doesn’t ask, mercifully, because Lexa isn't sure she could offer any explanation that wouldn’t reveal how deep her feelings run, or how much she’s been thinking about telling her. If Lexa ever does tell her—and that’s a big _if_ , all things considered—she doesn’t want it to be in some shitty bar, surrounded by obnoxious, drunk college kids. Maybe she's placing too much weight on a simple declaration, but she wants the moment to belong to her and Clarke alone.

 

Neither of them have time to further consider Lexa’s words because Lincoln takes his place by Lexa’s other side, nudging Clarke’s hip until she slides over the couple of feet to Octavia. “C’mon, it’s almost showtime. You can be separated for more than two minutes at a time, children. You won’t combust.”

 

Lexa glowers at him, but she can’t exactly defend herself when she immediately wishes that Clarke was by her side again. Without Clarke to distract her, Lexa takes a moment to survey the bar again, noticing that the crowd has thickened now that it’s later on in the night. There are even a few brave souls treating the middle of the room as a small dance floor, clearly drunk enough to ignore that they were at a dive and not a club.

 

Lexa’s still watching them all in amusement when a movement catches the corner of her eye and she shifts her gaze to catch sight of a brunette hastily making her way toward the exit, pushing past anyone in her way. There’s something familiar about the set of her shoulders and the color of her hair, and Lexa could swear that she’s seen that Sailor Moon shirt before—on and off Clarke, actually.

 

She turns to Lincoln and nudges his arm with her beer, jerking her head in the direction of the woman when he looks over to her questioningly. “Does that look like someone we know to you?”

 

“It’s hard to tell from here,” Lincoln says, squinting in an effort to see better through the crowd. “Shitty lighting and her back is turned still...but—” He pauses, eyes straining even harder, “—Wait, is that _Raven?_ ”

 

 _That’s_ who the woman had reminded her of, and it especially made sense give she recognized the shirt she was wearing as one of Clarke's. She says as much to Lincoln, who keeps his sights on possible-Raven until she slips out of the exit. She glances around surreptitiously first though, the same way Bellamy did, and Lexa is even further convinced when her eyes glance over the familiar profile that it’s Raven.

 

“Wonder what she was doing here, if that was her,” says Lincoln, echoing Lexa’s thoughts. “You’d think she would know the girls are here and want to stay.”

 

“Yeah,” Lexa replies absently, “Maybe she didn't know.”

 

Raven’s secretive presence didn’t strike Lexa as coincidental, and nor did Bellamy’s—and that’s when it all slowly connects in her mind. Bellamy’s obvious panic at their arrival, the shared looks between him and Clarke, and now Raven’s almost-successful escape... _Bellamy and Raven,_ Lexa almost laughs out loud. She tries to wrap her head around the idea and fails miserably. Any time she’d spent with them, they were either at each other’s throats or mocking each other, so much so that sometimes Lexa wondered if they even liked each other—turns out it’s the complete opposite. _Funny how these things work out,_ Lexa just thinks.

 

Lincoln hasn't had the same train of thought, judging by the way he starts devising a battle plan with Lexa instead of commenting further on the situation. The grand plan of attack is to let Lincoln take the pop culture and science questions, and for Lexa to take...everything else.

 

“Psst.”

 

Lexa looks past Lincoln to see Clarke’s grinning face on his other side, blue eyes gleaming. “Loser buys lunch tomorrow.”

 

Lexa schools her mouth into a confident smirk, lifting up her glass to her mouth to polish off the rest of her beer. “You’re on, Griffin. I promise I won’t pick anywhere too expensive. I’m mindful of the college kid struggle.”

 

“You’re a ‘college kid’ too, jackass,” Clarke bites back, “But whatever, I’ll let the score do the talking from now on.”

 

“That would be wise,” Lexa replies drily, her words less effective when she can’t stop noticing every little quirk of Clarke’s mouth.

 

Clarke knows—she sticks her tongue out playfully at Lexa. “ _Behave,_ and pay attention. You’ll need all the help you can get.”

 

But Lexa doesn’t take her eyes away from her until the night’s host takes the stage, already prattling off into the microphone about the rules for the game.

 

* * *

 

Lexa is an absolutely insufferable winner, Clarke decides.

 

Still—she can’t complain too much when her tipsy victory rambling also entails having an arm wrapped tightly around Clarke’s shoulders as they follow Lincoln and Octavia to the bar for a final round of beers. At least Lexa and Lincoln had only won by a close margin, and Octavia had been the one to fuck it up for them on a historical question, not Clarke.

 

“I am the smartest person in the entire world,” Lexa declares, for probably the fiftieth time in the last five minutes. “There's just no other explanation for such an embarrassing, crushing defeat.”

 

Clarke groans loudly, dropping her head back onto Lexa's arm briefly. “Are you gonna do this all night? I'm gonna leave you here if that's the case.”

 

Lexa laughs and turns to plant a wet kiss on Clarke's cheek, her green eyes just a little dopey from the beer Lincoln was diligent about fetching for them throughout the competition. She says, rather confidently, “Yeah, but you're not gonna leave me here.”

 

“How do you know that?” Clarke asks smartly, lifting an eyebrow in a silent challenge.

 

“Because,” Lexa taps Clarke on the nose, “I have it on good authority that you enjoy my company.”

 

“Is that ‘good authority’ my vagina? Because she's been known to make questionable decisions for me,” Clarke teases, laughing as Lexa brings her lips together in an honest-to-God pout. “Oh, _stop it._ I forgot that beer makes you sensitive.”

 

“Does not,” Lexa mumbles, but the pout doesn't leave her mouth. “You’re just mean.”

 

Clarke steers her into an empty stool next to Octavia when they catch up to them, grateful that there's already another draft in place to distract Lexa. When Lexa stares up at her balefully while taking a grateful drink from her beer, Clarke just laughs and cards her hands through her hair, tugging affectionately. She remains standing behind Lexa, loosely wrapping her arms around her shoulders at the same time that Lexa leans back against her chest. Her weight is welcome and solid against Clarke, who mostly finds herself relieved that all of her misgivings about tonight were being proved wrong.

 

Lexa had apologized several times since the other morning and truthfully, Clarke cares more that  _Lexa cares_ so much about hurting her feelings than anything else.

 

“Oh, hey, Lexa,” Lincoln says, leaning over to get a better look at her, “Remember when we obliterated an entire bar—including Octavia and Clarke—at trivia?”

 

“How could _anyone_ forget with these constant reminders?” Octavia grouses at the same time that Lexa nods proudly, jostling Clarke slightly.  

 

“Yes, I do, very vividly. It's almost as if—”

 

“Okay, you two literally won by a _single_ question—” Clarke interrupts, only to be interrupted.

 

“One is all it takes.” Lincoln slaps down a $20 for their drinks and a tip. “You shouldn't have let O take the history questions. She's the wrong Blake for that.”

 

“Guess who's not getting laid tonight? Anyway, speaking of my asshole brother,” Octavia starts, and Clarke is already apprehensive because she knows where it's headed, “Did anyone else get the sense that he was lying?”

 

“Nope,” Clarke automatically lies—maybe a little too quickly. “I didn't see anyone he would know here.”

 

She glances down to see Lexa open her mouth like she wants to say something—only to close it right away again. _Weird,_ thinks Clarke, resolving to get whatever it was out of her later. Lexa has a few key weaknesses—all two of them being Clarke's boobs, and she had no qualms about using them to her advantage. Besides that, Lexa’s been so painfully taken with her all night, drawn to Clarke like all she wants to do is be wherever she is. It's overwhelming, if only because Clarke finds that she absolutely loses the ability to function every time Lexa leans in for a sweet, soft kiss, or when she drops a casual hand to rest on the small of her back. It's even worse because Lexa doesn't even seem to know what it does to her—she just does it because she _wants_ to, and knowing that ruins Clarke all over again.

 

“Still—I don't buy that he was here by himself,” Octavia grabs the beer that Lincoln offers her and sets it down on the table, “Bellamy doesn't just ‘go for a beer.’ That's Lincoln and Lexa’s thing.”

 

Clarke is only sort of surprised to hear that. Lexa's drink of choice anywhere they went was typically some beer she had never heard of.

 

She draws back and asks anyway, “Really?”

 

“I can confirm that,” Lexa punctuates it with a long drink but still grimaces at the taste, “But shitty dive bar beer isn't exactly mine or Lincoln’s preference.”

 

“You take that back,” Clarke lets out a throaty laugh, picking up Lexa’s beer and taking a generous gulp too. She takes hers like a champ and barely even winces, “The Captain’s Room offers only the finest piss on draft.”

 

“Why’d you even come into this place?” Lincoln asks Octavia, looking around at their questionable surroundings and then inserting himself more bodily between the rest of the crowd and the three women seated in front of him. “I’m even scared of the guys in here.”

 

“Besides the obvious Not-21 thing?” Octavia shrugs, tucking herself under one of his arms. “Had a dream about being in a shitty bar one night and saw this place the next day. It felt like fate.”

 

“That's so beautiful,” Clarke deadpans, wiping away a fake tear, “I hope my life has meaning like that someday.”

 

“I wouldn't count on it,” Octavia snipes back, taking her phone out of her back pocket just as it rings with an incoming message. She reads it quickly and huffs, “Well, looks like our fun is over. We're being summoned at home—Raven demands we feed her.”

 

They’re quick to gather themselves and their belongings, finishing off whatever was left of their drinks and tipping the bartender generously. Lexa stands up and gratefully takes the hand Clarke offers out to her, not letting go as they follow their friends to the exit. Clarke had come to expect it by now, even though she can’t quite wrap her head around this version of Lexa that she’s had all night.

 

“You staying home tonight?” Lexa asks as they near the parking lot, both of them purposely hanging behind Lincoln and Octavia.

 

Clarke stops short in front of her, smiling as she swings their joined hands back and forth a few times. As much as she wants to suggest that they meet up at Lexa’s after Raven is fed, the memory of the other morning is still fresh on Clarke’s mind. Lexa has more than made up for it, but Clarke isn’t sure she wants to disrupt their easy rhythm again. She doesn't want Lexa to feel like there's anything to be afraid of, or anything to be pressured about.

 

“Yeah,” Clarke replies, squeezing Lexa’s hand a little, hoping it somehow makes her understand. “I’m really glad you came tonight, though. I’m glad I got to see you.”

 

Lexa knows just where Clarke’s mind is at and she smiles—and it’s grateful and reassuring, all at once. She brings her free hand up to Clarke’s front pocket, hooking her fingers in and pulling until they’re close enough to share a breath. Her voice is serious and sweet when she speaks. “I’m glad I could be here, Clarke.”

 

Clarke knows that she must’ve kissed Lexa at least a thousand times by now—she’s memorized the shape and texture of her lips, has spent whole _days_ thinking about the exact, delicate pressure of her mouth—but there’s something wholly different about the way Lexa is kissing her now. She takes her time, mouth gliding carefully and gently over Clarke’s, like she’s only going to get this one chance to do it. She switches sides, changes the angle of it, chasing the taste of every little movement Clarke makes. Lexa’s hand has slipped low on Clarke’s back, sure and steadfast, palm burning a hole through her shirt—and she can’t help the slight groan of approval that escapes her.

 

That’s when Clarke knows she has to break it (they’re in _public_ ) and when she does, she does so with a fond peck to Lexa’s lips. She keeps her tone casual if only to disguise from the way her voice has dropped in pitch. “You’re not doing a very good job of saying bye.”

 

Lexa lets out a low laugh against Clarke’s mouth, the hot puff of her breath sparking shivers down her spine all over again. “I beg to differ, actually. You sure sounded like I was doing a good job.”

 

“You’re insufferable,” Clarke punctuates it with another short kiss, “And I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

 

Octavia finally interrupts the moment, asking loudly from several feet ahead, “When do you think they’re gonna remember we’re here?”

 

Clarke rolls her eyes but puts some distance between hers and Lexa’s bodies anyway, deciding that if they don’t stop and actually say goodbye now, they’ll end up going home together. The way Lexa sends her off with sweet, soft press of her lips and a quiet promise to see her tomorrow for her victory lunch is as good as, anyhow.

 

* * *

 

“So the ones running up and down the field like crazy are the midfielders? And they’re mostly responsible for, like, connecting all the plays or whatever?” Lexa asks slowly, gauging the correctness of her answer by Clarke’s answering expression. “Between the defenders and...forwards?”

 

“Bingo! Now you’re getting it,” Clarke says proudly, nudging Lexa with her shoulder and gulping down a generous swing of her Blue Moon. “Those are the _basics_ of what each position does. I’m not sure if we want to get into all the rules yet so I'll just keep giving you the play-by-play—”

 

“—Are you guys ever gonna keep it quiet over there?” Raven tosses a couple of Doritos in Clarke’s direction, disappointed when only fall onto her lap. “Some of us are actually trying to watch the game.”

 

Clarke leans over Lexa to flip Raven the bird. “Half-time just started, dick. You're not missing any of it.”

 

The game being a men’s soccer match between the Portland and Seattle teams (which Lexa keeps forgetting the names of, but Clarke had very seriously informed her several times already so she refused to ask again)—one that Lexa was getting the impression that Clarke and her friends take more seriously than anything else in their lives. She's sandwiched in between Clarke and Raven on the couch—Bellamy on Raven’s other side—and she's positive she's ever seen three adults so worked up about what's basically a complicated, live-action chess. With balls.

 

“Yeah,” Octavia chimes in from her seat on Lincoln’s lap, “I’ve waited all year for Seattle to kick Portland’s ass—”

 

“—And you shouldn't be so quick to speak,” Bellamy cuts in around a mouthful of chips he’d stolen from Raven. “There's an entire half left and Seattle already looks like they collectively did the Iron-Man. My money’s on Portland this year.”

 

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re never right.” Raven plucks the bag of Doritos from him, holding it farther away when he tries to snatch it back. “These are mine, dumbass. There’s more in the kitchen.”

 

“Ever heard of sharing?”

 

“Ever heard of minding your business?”

 

They squabble back and forth until Clarke loudly intervenes, “You can _both_ eat the chips, kids. Now who's being disruptive?”

 

“The lady has a point,” Lincoln courteously tips his beer at Clarke, winking.

 

“Babe, Clarke's not a lady,” Octavia scoffs, “Trust me, I know what she looks like blacked out.”

 

“I know what you look like in the back of a cop car,” Clarke doesn't miss a beat, grinning smugly, “So maybe you should reconsider where this conversation is headed.”

 

Bellamy looks up at that, apparently baffled by what she’d just revealed. “Um, what? What do you mean you’ve seen my sister in a cop car?”

 

Raven shakes her head at him, muttering, “Don't.”

 

“Touché,” Octavia concedes to Clarke. She hops up to her feet—presumably before Bellamy can ask more questions—and declares, “I'm gonna grab some beers. You're all having one.”

 

And Lexa won't ever argue against a beer. Besides—another one would tip her mind and body into a pleasant buzz before the game starts back up again. She didn't quite understand why they enjoyed something that made them all yell themselves hoarse and probably shaved years off their lives, but Lexa would honestly watch grass growing if that's what Clarke was into.

 

Clarke seems to remember something then, blue eyes brightening as she turns to Octavia, “Bring out some from the case we bought earlier! I totally forgot it was in there.”

 

Lexa eyes her questioningly as Octavia only nods her confirmation and bounds into the kitchen to get the beers. “Did you finally upgrade from the discount section at the gas station?”

 

“Blue Moon isn't nearly that bad, snob,” Clarke teases and shakes her head in amusement, “Sorry that we don't all have Fat Tire lying around.”

 

“Is that a name drop, Griffin? I can't believe you actually listened to my beer crash course,” Lexa touches a hand to her own chest, “I’m flattered.”

 

A few days after the trivia night at the bar, they had been hanging out at Lexa’s, taking advantage of a rare afternoon free from obligations by marathoning as many episodes of their favorite shows as possible. Clarke had asked for something to drink halfway through the marathon and been given permission to raid Lexa’s fridge—she'd come away from it teasing her for her “Serious Beer” selection, an Odell in hand. Lexa had promptly launched into a certifiable _speech_ about craft beer, and though Clarke’s knowledge of beer consisted of whatever there was available in the coolers at college parties, she sat admirably through it.

 

And had even retained information, apparently.

 

“I'm about to one-up you,” Clarke states, drawing Lexa's attention back to her.

 

Before Lexa can ask what she means by that, she spots Octavia walking back into the living room with their beers in hand. Octavia hands hers and Clarke's over first, presumably for her benefit—but Lexa doesn’t need to see it up close to see what kind it is. She recognized the label as soon as she could make out the design beneath Octavia's fingertips.

 

“Leffe blonde?” Lexa looks to Clarke, in time to see the color rise to her cheeks.

 

She'd mentioned this was a favorite of hers for party beers (because Lexa _does_ have categories) a couple days ago, figuring Clarke would laugh it off.

 

Clarke shrugs, somewhat bashful under the newfound attention. “You said you liked it. I wanted to make sure you'd have something that you like.”

 

“I wasn't prepared for this this show of romance right now,” Raven calls out, half in disbelief and half sarcastically, “How can anyone say love is dead when this woman just bought her her favorite beer?”

 

“You're the only one here who says that,” Bellamy replies, tapping Raven lightly on the temple.

 

She goes to stick her finger in his ear in retaliation, but he jerks away in time, laughing at her noise of frustration.

 

It's a gesture that reads as affectionate—anyone would be able to tell, but Lexa now has the added insight from Clarke to add weight to her perspective. The same day that they'd had beers at Lexa’s apartment, Clarke finally had the opportunity to tell her about the situation between Bellamy and Raven—how they told her it sort of just happened and they wanted to prove Octavia wrong before telling her anything, and how she thought it was her duty as a friend to light a fire under their asses about telling Octavia. Her argument was that they were barely keeping it from her anyway—the night at the bar was proof of that—and they'd be better off in the long run if they were just honest, and Lexa agreed.

 

Fortunately, Octavia and Lincoln are too engrossed in each other on the loveseat to have noticed the slip up. Lexa observes them, following the protective curl of Lincoln’s palm snug against Octavia's waist, his eyes flitting restlessly about her face while she talked, like he was trying to take in more than the scope of his eyes allowed him to. Octavia's hand rests lightly against his chest, fingertips gently scraping up and down against the material of his jersey, and Lexa almost feels like she's intruding when they lean in to kiss and the press of their mouths is something intimately familiar. It stirs an ache in her and she wonders if maybe people see her and Clarke that way, if their growing ease shines through too. And if it doesn't—Lexa quietly admits to herself that she wants it to.

 

A warm hand on her thigh brings her out of her thoughts and she turns to see Clarke slowly leaning in towards her, until their noses are just barely grazing. This close, Lexa can see the light dusting of freckles on the tops of her cheeks, can distinguish all the little rings of blue that make up the azure gaze she's grown unabashedly fond of the last couple of months.

 

“Are you gonna kiss me or are you just a really close talker?” Lexa finally whispers to her.

 

Amusement gleams in Clarke's eyes and Lexa can tell she's fighting back the urge to grin, but she doesn't say anything—instead she leans in the rest of the way and slots their mouths together, and Lexa's sure by now that her stomach is never going to stop swooping every time it happens. Clarke's lips are always so pliant and soft against hers that sometimes it's like they aren’t kissing at all—and the thought makes Lexa smile so hard that Clarke draws back with a laugh that sounds like she knows exactly what she’s thinking.

 

If she's being totally honest, Lexa finds that isn't so afraid to admit that she probably does, that Clarke _always_ does because she knows and sees her. Sometimes, Lexa was so sure that Clarke could simply crack open Lexa’s skull and peer into all the thoughts she couldn’t say aloud. It’s starting to dawn on her that maybe she isn’t alone in this fumbling, awkward freefall. That maybe, even though they’d walked into this with eyes _wide_ open about what to expect, Lexa wasn’t the only one who was blindsided.

 

She wonders, now, if she’s the only one who wants to say it.

 

“You brain is being extra loud tonight,” Clarke says quietly, resting her head against Lexa’s shoulder. She tugs at the hem of her shirt, “Are you doing okay? Do you want me to go get you some water?”

 

Lexa nods eagerly, not having realized how good it sounded until Clarke suggested it. “That’d be great, actually.”

 

“I’ll be back,” Clarke hands Lexa her beer and presses a quick kiss to her jaw. She’s about to make her way to the kitchen when she pauses and eyes Lexa warningly. “Don’t drink my beer, jerk.”

 

“I’m not making any promises,” Lexa just says at her retreating back.

 

(She’s definitely drinking both of them.)

 

* * *

 

It’s a close game.

 

They’re about to go into stoppage time and of course it’s tied—Clarke can _hear_ her heart pounding and the adrenaline thrumming in her veins, even if the alcohol makes it a little harder to focus on what the tiny figures on the screen are doing.

 

“Holy shit, I’m gonna have a fucking coronary—I wasn’t built for this kind of stress.” Raven is using Bellamy’s bicep as her personal stress ball and it shows all over his pained grimaces and occasional winces. “Someone sedate me, please.”

 

“I second that,” Bellamy mutters, rubbing his raw skin.

 

Octavia had separated from Lincoln towards the end of the game—her constant fits of rage unsurprisingly led to some painfully placed jabs—and has taken up pacing back and forth behind the couch, ranting on about missed opportunities and wide open holes in the defense.

 

Lincoln and Lexa remained the only calm ones—Lincoln because he’s a saint, and Lexa because she isn’t nearly as invested as they are.

 

Clarke’s been too nervous to even hold Lexa’s hand, can’t sit still long enough to kiss for more than a few seconds for fear of missing an important play. Lexa had opened her eyes during a kiss to catch Clarke still watching the game a few too many times and had since stopped trying.

 

“I wanna go outside,” Lexa chooses then to tell Clarke, “I’m too hot in here.”

 

“Okay, sure, I’ll be there in a bit,” Clarke replies distractedly, her attention already shifted back to the television, “Just give me a couple of minutes.”

 

She’s too focused on the fast-moving, high energy game playing out on the TV—and her friends’ incessant stream of commentary and occasional hollers—to notice that Lexa hasn’t moved from her seat until she nudges her calve with her foot.

 

“What’s up? You don’t feel like going outside anymore?” Clarke can only spare a quick glance in her general direction before she’s caught up in the game again, frowning at the sight of a red card being issued. “ _W_ _hat the shit?_ I call bullshit!”

 

“Totally,” Raven agrees, hands raking through her hair in borderline defeat. She huffs, “He fucking dove!”

 

“What an asshole.” Octavia shakes her head slowly in disbelief. “That’s unreal.”

 

Clarke is about to launch into a tirade about the utter incompetency of the ref when Lexa nudges her again and this time, she turns to fully look at her only to be met with wide green eyes and a beginnings of a pout.

 

“Clarke,” Lexa all but _whines._

 

“What?” Clarke asks, a bit incredulous. She’s confused about what Lexa wants from her. “You said you were going outside. Do you need more water? Food?”

 

Lexa frowns, staring up at Clarke through the thick fringe of her lashes.  She whispers, “I want you to come outside with me.”

 

Clarke almost has an aneurysm.

 

“You...right now? You want me to go with you, _right now?_ ” Clarke repeats slowly, staring at Lexa.

 

Lexa nods. “Yes.”

 

“Like, right this second?” Clarke still can’t quite believe that Lexa is asking her to walk out on the final minutes.

 

Lexa nods again, more seriously this time. “Yeah.”

 

“Lex, there’s‒there’s three minutes left in the game,” Clarke is looking rapidly between Lexa and the television, where the game is only increasing in pace and stakes. “I promise I’ll be out as soon as it’s done.”

 

Clarke might’ve been able to hold her resolve if she hadn’t chosen to look over at her again—she’s _still_ pouting, and the low light from the ceiling lamp hits her eyes perfectly to illuminate their grayish green intensity as they beg of Clarke. Her skin looks flushed and hot to the touch, which Clarke assumes is the reason why she wants to go outside.

 

This is a battle that's already been won without much of a competition. Clarke heaves out a sigh, polishing off what’s left of her Leffe and pointedly avoiding Raven and Octavia’s matching horrified looks as she gets up from the couch. They’d been following hers and Lexa’s exchange with rapt interest, no doubt to see if she would give in.

 

Clarke holds her hands out to Lexa even as she has to comfort herself with the knowledge that the replays will likely be on all night. “C’mon, then. Up you go.”

 

Lexa takes them quickly, letting Clarke haul her up from the couch. “Can we bring the chips?”

 

Clarke snorts, keeping hold of one of Lexa’s hand and grabbing the bag of chips from where Raven had left it on the coffee table. “You can have _all_ the chips if you want.”

 

“Well, folks, I thought we had seen it all,” Raven starts, looking to Octavia with a knowing smirk, “But it seems I was wrong.”

 

Octavia makes a loud whipping noise as Bellamy completes the picture with the exaggerated movement, as if they’ve been rehearsing and waiting for the day. Lincoln laughs good-naturedly at all of them, but doesn’t join in on the teasing, figuring their friends had those bases handily covered. Clarke knows her cheeks are burning as she leads Lexa to the back patio and she has to concentrate harder than usual not to stumble over her feet. She’d lost count of how many beers she’d had throughout the game, but it was enough to make her surroundings spin if she moved too fast.

 

When she hears her friends shouting and celebrating what could only be a fantastic play shortly after, there's a twinge of regret in her gut for not having hung back to catch the remaining few minutes.

 

But when Clarke turns to ask Lexa if she feels more comfortable now that they’re outside—because that’s all she cares about in the end, really—she’s met with an urgent, needy kiss, Lexa’s hands immediately coming up to cup her face. She strokes her thumbs over Clarke’s cheeks, sucks her bottom lip with a sharp tug that tells her how much she’s been thinking about this.

 

Clarke is already undone, the soccer game all but forgotten from her mind.

 

* * *

 

She never wants to come up for air.

 

That’s the only thing running through Lexa's mind, and she’s sure it shows in how she licks into Clarke’s mouth, hot and restless. They’d vacated the patio in favor of the dark of Clarke’s bedroom, not even bothering to check in on the result of the game or their friends. Something about this is much more urgent.

 

Clarke pulls back to tug her shirt over her head, ridding Lexa of hers soon after. They’re on each other again in seconds, mouths sliding wetly together, the combined warmth of their burning skin making up for the chill of the bedroom. Lexa herself is pleasantly sluggish but weightless, imbued with a tender ache that always comes with being so close to Clarke. Clarke’s arms wrap around her shoulders and Lexa is immediately lost to the feeling of their chests pressed together, to the sensation of Clarke’s fingernails digging into the sensitive skin of her shoulders.

 

She hisses against Clarke’s lips, pays her back in kind by turning them around and walking them until she can press her back onto the door. Clarke’s legs shift apart unconsciously and Lexa slots her thigh between them, rocking in hard enough to leave them both gasping. Lexa pulls back for both of their sakes, to get some air, and the sight of Clarke’s head tipped back, neck straining and bare, as she rolls her hips forward into Lexa is almost too much. She’s replayed fantasies like these on a loop in her mind since she first slept Clarke and it’s still all but impossible not to be overcome that she actually gets to experience all of them.

 

Lexa has to drop her head onto Clarke’s shoulder, regaining some of her breath before turning to suck a wet trail of kisses up her neck. Clarke’s hands come up to knit through her hair, tugging hard until Lexa crushes their mouths together again. There’s a thick ache in Lexa’s chest that won’t let her ease up, that demands its fill of Clarke, her hands, her mouth, all her sounds, everything. Her hands are everywhere—she can’t decide what she wants to experience first because she doesn’t want to miss a single moment with any part of Clarke’s.

 

Clarke comes up from their kiss breathing raggedly, laying a hand on Lexa’s sternum and gently pressing until she understands and walks backward towards the bed. When Lexa's knees hit the mattress, she takes the cue and sinks back down onto it, staring as Clarke reaches back to unclasp her bra and drop it off to the side. Lexa lets her eyes properly roam the expanse of smooth, perfect skin revealed to her, but she’s impatient to feel and so she reaches for Clarke, drawing her in by the waistband of her jeans.

 

“I love your skin,” Lexa murmurs then. She traces her fingertips over Clarke’s sternum down between the valley of her breasts, amazed at the way the flesh goosebumps beneath the gentle path she creates.

 

She brings her hands up to palm Clarke’s chest, grinning like a cheshire cat. “And I love these, but you already know that.”

 

Clarke rolls her eyes, but it isn’t enough to disguise the way she’s been completely enraptured by Lexa. Every inch of her is open and listening, gifting Lexa with a vulnerability that might’ve scared her away, before. It doesn’t now, not at all.

 

She grabs Clarke’s hands and brings them up to her mouth, brushing her lips over each of her knuckles, “I love your hands.”

 

She places them to rest on the sides of her neck while reaching up with one of her own, carefully touching her fingertips underneath Clarke’s eyes. Clarke cups her warm hands more firmly around Lexa’s neck, her thumbs gliding up and down her jawline.

 

“You have the prettiest eyes,” Lexa continues, swallowing hard against the knot in her throat that threatens to stop all of this. She strokes over Clarke’s bottom lip. “And the prettiest mouth.”

 

Clarke shakes her head at that, mumbling, “You definitely deserve that one.”

 

Lexa only hums in response as she kisses her way slowly down Clarke’s stomach, letting her tongue dip lightly into her bellybutton, drawing a giggle from her. Lexa’s lips twitch up into a smile and she drops another kiss onto it, whispering against it, “I actually love your bellybutton.”

 

“And why’s that?” Clarke threads a hand into Lexa’s hair again, eyes falling shut as careful lips begin to make their way to her hipbone.

 

“It’s just cute.” Lexa nips sharply at the jutting bone, soothing the mark over with her tongue. Then adds, thoughtfully, “It’s my second favorite hole in your body.”

 

Clarke barks out a laugh and it buzzes against Lexa's lips. “Asshole.”

 

Lexa chuckles, mouthing a slow string of kisses across Clarke’s hips, “I was going to say that the first are your eyes.”

 

Clarke shuts her up by pushing her own jeans and underwear down her legs, straddling her lap and tipping them back onto the mattress with a desperate kiss. Her hands reach down to undo Lexa’s pants and she stands up briefly to pull them off, pleased when Lexa thinks to remove her bra at the same time. She takes her place on top again, legs instantly bracketing Lexa’s hips, and doesn’t hesitate to slide her hand down Lexa’s stomach and then further, until she finds purchase in slick, sensitive skin.

 

Lexa’s answering gasp is stark in the quiet around them and Clarke bites her smile into the hollow of her neck. Clarke’s touch is slightly unfocused and messy after a few too many beers, but it’s only a few strokes before Lexa is ready to collapse, shuddering and boneless beneath Clarke. When Clarke’s fingers waver, Lexa groans and shifts her hips up and out for _more,_ her chest coiling tightly with the confession that slams against her ribcage, urging her to let it free.

 

(It’s been on the back of her mind all night, stuck in her throat and threatening to spill out on its own every time she's opened her mouth.)

 

She’s clinging to Clarke desperately now, locking her legs tightly together around her waist, dragging her nails up and down the sweaty expanse of her back, every inch of her body molten. She strains up to clamp her teeth on the arm Clarke is using to hold herself up, biting hard enough for Clarke’s rhythm to falter and a drawn-out groan to leave her swollen lips, right up against the shell of Lexa’s ear. She’ll have a conspicuously placed bruise there in the morning, but Lexa’s too far gone to be considerate of that.

 

Clarke presses in deeper, curves her fingers just so, and Lexa’s spine is locking up in an instant, her pleasure cresting over her in endless waves until she’s panting and sated. Clarke keeps her grounded through all of it, dropping gentle kisses all over her face, coaxing her with murmured reassurances in her ear.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Lexa finally exhales, her flushed chest heaving as she works to gain control of her breathing again.

 

She groans loudly and drops a heavy arm over her eyes, giving her mind and body some reprieve to recover from the intensity of her release. Clarke hovers above her, dotting her solar plexus with slow, tender kisses, and when Lexa looks back up at her, her eyes are wide and bright, and so fucking _blue_ that Lexa can’t help it—

 

She reaches a hand up to brush Clarke’s hair from falling into her face, sweeps a thumb over her brow. Her heart is beating so fast she’s sure that Clarke can hear it and it takes a courage she didn’t know she had, but she just _can’t_ hold it in anymore. So, she says it—quietly, and without looking away, “I like you.”

 

Clarke is stunned for a moment, searching Lexa’s face for any signs of doubt or panic, or worse—regret. She must not find any because her answering smile is brighter than Lexa’s ever seen it and Lexa instantly wants to bottle this moment up and soak herself in it—until she comes away with nothing in her but the memory of Clarke’s gorgeous face, shining like Lexa just revealed the only truth she’s ever wanted to know. If this is how it makes her feel to hear it, Lexa would say it a thousand times over.

 

“I like you too,” Clarke whispers back, leaning down until their faces are only millimeters away, “I like you so much.”

 

“So much,” Lexa can only echo before Clarke is kissing her again, a new kind of hunger blooming between them.

 

 _So much,_ Lexa can only think after that, over and over again.

 

* * *

 

“Fuck,” Lexa mutters to herself as she angles her neck towards the mirror, trying to catch as much light on it as possible, “Goddamn it, Clarke.”

 

She squeezes a bit of concealer onto her fingertip, spreading it over the reddish purple bruise at the base of her neck and wincing at the slight ache it provokes. She blends it in until it doesn’t look like a random splotch of color on her neck, tucking a few strands of hair in front of her shoulders to add another layer of security against possible scrutiny. When Lexa’s satisfied that no one will be able to distinguish the telling discoloration, she tosses the tube of concealer back into her purse and makes her way down the hallway. She slides her phone out of her pocket as she walks, absently scrolling through her notifications.

 

There are a few messages from Anya, but it’s mostly all Clarke, and it makes her smile a little. They hadn’t had much of a chance to talk since last night, but even the simplest of their messages have taken on new meaning after their hushed confessions. She’s in the middle of replying to a text when she reaches Indra’s office and—noticing that there are no other students waiting around outside—she makes a mental note to finish the message later and stows it away. Though it’s open and she’s expecting her, Lexa still knocks on the door and waits for the verbal invitation Indra calls out before stepping through it.

 

She was a little confused about why Indra had requested to see her during office hours sometime this week, given that there were no assignments or material that she needed Lexa’s help with, but she had chalked it up to some sort of prep meeting for the upcoming finals. She was mostly dreading the conversation because she figured it just meant more work piled on top of what she already had to do.

 

“Lexa,” is Indra’s civil greeting. She gestures to the chairs in front of her desk, “Have a seat.”

 

Lexa does as she’s told, suddenly uncomfortable in the pristine, cold office. She can’t explain why, but an uneasiness has wormed itself into her stomach. “Good afternoon, professor.”

 

Indra simply nods, pinning her with an impenetrable stare. The next words out of her mouth almost pull all the air from Lexa’s lungs.

 

“Do you know Clarke Griffin outside of the classroom?”

 

Lexa swallows hard, her stomach churning and mind racing faster than she can think to speak. She manages to pull herself together enough to the question. She stutters, “No? I mean—no, not really.”

 

Indra doesn’t look impressed with her answer, her mouth set in a firm line. “Explain.”

 

Lexa clears her throat, trying to figure out what she can do or say to stall while she comes up with a believable excuse. She ends up asking—because she really is curious—“May I ask what led to this conversation?”

 

Indra eyes her carefully again, as if debating whether or not it’s fair to tell her. In the end, she decides to. “A student from our classroom told me that they saw you with her and two other people at a bar on Thursday night. They felt it inappropriate, especially given how close to final exams we are, and so they brought it to my attention yesterday afternoon. I have to say that I agree, Lexa.”

 

She knows in an instant: trivia night. _Fuck._

 

“I don’t actually know Clarke outside of class,” Lexa lies again, hoping her voice doesn’t waver with it, “I’m good friends with the guy we were there with. His girlfriend—the other woman who was there—is best friends with Clarke. It all occurred through pure happenstance and that was the first night I’ve seen her outside of the classroom.”

 

Lexa stops short, forcing herself to take a steadying breath.

 

Indra remains quiet, studying Lexa intensely for any obvious signs of dishonesty. The hickey on her throat burns like hot coals and she’s never felt the pressure of being under a microscope this closely. After long moments, and just when she starts thinking, _This is it, it’s all over,_ Indra gives a curt nod.

 

“Very well,” she says brusquely, eyes already cast back down to the previously abandoned work on her desk. “You should be more careful next time. You know the consequences, Lexa, and I would hate to see someone like you suffer them.”

 

Lexa can only nod, her body too weak from the intense rush of relief slamming through her to trust herself to do or say anything else.

 

“I’ll see you in class next week. Come prepared with printouts of the revised syllabus I sent you,” Indra continues, tone making it clear that the conversation had ended.

 

“Yes, of course,” Lexa mumbles, “I’ll see you then.”

 

She wills herself to walk as calmly as she can out of the office, completely betraying the way her insides were roiling with every step.

 

Her mind is focused on only one thing now.

 

She has to talk to Clarke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there are still two more parts left. that's all i'll say.


End file.
